


Burgundy & Blue

by AndreaChristoph



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M, Grief, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 82,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaChristoph/pseuds/AndreaChristoph
Summary: “Well...what are you waiting on? You guys want to get Flynn back or what?”Never underestimate the tenacity of a woman with a broken heart and a time machine.  After he takes the bullet in San Francisco instead of Rufus, Lucy does her best impression of Flynn and punches holes in her own timeline in a desperate attempt to save his life - but actions have consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

Lucy can't breathe.

The jostling of the Lifeboat finally ceases and she rips the seatbelt away from her chest, stumbling to the door before it even has time to finish sliding open.  Her shaking hand slips on the cold metal of the stair railing before finding purchase and she hurries down before her legs can give out, which they do the instant she reaches the concrete floor of the bunker.  Her ears are ringing, all the voices around her distant and unintelligible as she kneels and tries desperately to stop hyperventilating. Somewhere in the back of her mind she can hear the concern in their voices, feel Wyatt's hand gently rest against her shoulder, but all she can hear, all she has been able to hear since they departed 1888, is the ringing left in the immediate wake of the gunshot.

Bile rises in the back of her throat and she chokes it back.  She looks around the bunker, disoriented, eyes focused on nothing and utterly confused until she turns to look at Wyatt kneeling beside her and then Rufus standing over them.  The concern on their faces is enough to undo her, and she finally lets out deep, shuddering sigh, slumps forward as all the strength leaves her body and she is quickly caught by Wyatt.  She doesn’t protest, doesn’t acknowledge him at all. She’s desperately holding back the sob that’s fighting to escape. She knows if it does, she won’t be able to stop.

Garcia Flynn is dead.

The confidence and hope they'd felt in the wake of saving Rufus now feels like a bitter joke, and perhaps they'd let their guards down because of it.  They'd gone back to save Jiya, risks be damned, knowing any one of their trips could be the one she'd seen in visions for weeks prior to her kidnapping, knowing Rufus could be killed at any moment, because he refused to value his own life over the happiness of the woman he loved.  And they'd all shared Jiya’s relief as Rufus's would-be killer collapsed to the floor, two bullets to the chest from a Colt .45 enough to render the vision nothing more than a bad dream.

But they should have known.  Time has a way of correcting course, no matter how much you try to deviate from it.

"Where is Flynn?” Denise asks as she rounds the center console, and it's then that she finally sees the mess on Lucy's skirt, the bloody handprint on her cheek.  She looks to all of their faces in turn and the shell shocked expressions there, and it dawns on her. 

They are all lost for words, despite their relatively antagonistic relationship with the terrorist-turned-ally.  There are several moments of tense silence, until Rufus finally says, "Flynn-”

That's all he gets out before Lucy pulls away from Wyatt and gets to her feet in one quick motion, rushing away from the team before they can so much as ask if she's okay.  They let her leave. She and Flynn had grown close over the past few months, that much was obvious to any of them, but none could say exactly how close the pair were. The nature of their relationship remained a mystery that neither Flynn nor Lucy had ever been inclined to elaborate on, but the strength of her reaction was painting a clear picture for them regardless. 

Denise turns back to the group, face grim. “Where is he now?”

“We didn't have time," Wyatt says, his voice low, eyes trained on the floor.  He still hasn't stood up from where he was kneeling to comfort Lucy. “We had to leave him behind.  She held him while...” Despite his long held animosity toward Flynn, he finds he can't finish the sentence.  

* * *

_San Francisco - 1888_

Celebrations can wait.  Every second they waste in the bar gives Emma and Jessica that much more time to escape.  Wyatt and Flynn take point, pistols in hand, leading them up the stairs and out into the cold San Francisco night.  Lucy is the last to emerge and she sees both men scanning the crowd, trying to spot their Rittenhouse targets.  But the urgency has left all of their faces - with Rufus and Jiya both safe, the ultimate goal of this trip, no one feels particularly inclined to hunt for the needle in the haystack that would be tracking Emma down.  Flynn's eyes meet hers and they share a small, tired smile. Despite the aloof front he puts on with most of the team - Lucy being the notable exception - he is clearly just as relieved as the rest of them that Rufus is safe and sound.

And then the shot goes off.  

The smile fades from his face as quickly as Lucy's does, replaced by a look of confusion as he stumbles back a step.   He drops his gaze down to his chest where blood is quickly spreading through the fabric of his suit and touches a hand to his heart, to the small hole there, his fingers coming away red.  He stares at this a moment, as if he's struggling to make sense of it, and then looks back at Lucy as he stumbles again and his legs give out.

Lucy rushes forward as Flynn slumps to the ground.  His breath is coming in short gasps, a small line of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.  Lucy presses her hands to the wound as firm as she can, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind it's a useless gesture.  Emma's aim was impeccable, a clean shot, and it would take extensive medical care from the present for him to have a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving the wound.

“No no no, Flynn, please....” she whispers, frantic as her hands do little to stop the bleeding.  She looks over her shoulder and shouts, “Go get help!” at her team, all of them seemingly too stunned to move.  Or perhaps they’ve also realized what she already had - there’s nothing they can do.

He's going to die.

Flynn is watching her with clear eyes despite his shaking and coughing, and he weakly reaches his bloodied hand toward hers, but his failing strength only gets him halfway.  She lets go of the wound with one hand to grasp his instead and presses his palm to her cheek.

"Please Flynn, hang on, please, please don't do this-”

His confused expression fades into one of calm and he licks his lips in that way that is so utterly and painfully Flynn, opens his mouth slightly as if to speak.  Lucy nods, urging him to say whatever it is that he's struggling to get out. She finally lets go of the wound and pulls him into her lap as best she can.   Her grip on his hand tightens even as his own loosens, and she watches as his eyes struggle to focus on hers before his gaze finally softens and he goes still.

It only occurs to her much later that the ringing in her ears is from her own voice, yelling in horror, in rage, in pained grief as Wyatt and Rufus try to pull her away from Flynn.  "Lucy, we need to go,” she hears Wyatt urge, and she knows he's right, knows that despite Emma having fled long ago, she won't have left her escape route unguarded and there are no doubt Rittenhouse agents heading their way now, to say nothing of the local police.  And yet she can't let go of Flynn, heavy in her bloodied lap, his limp hand still grasped tightly in hers. They tug on her arms and she resists their grasp until Wyatt finally reaches his arms around her waist and lifts her bodily away. She pounds her fists on his arms in an attempt to make him let go, but he is relentless as he drags her back.

"No!  We can't leave him-”

"Lucy, we have no time. We need to go,” she hears, Wyatt's voice gentle and quiet in her ear as he simply holds her in place, waiting for her to calm.

She finally stops fighting and he lets go, and she starts to follow before pausing.  “Wait, just...wait a second,” she says to Wyatt, turning to rush back to Flynn’s side. She lifts his left hand carefully to slip the ring off his finger, trying to ignore how cold to the touch he is already.  Wyatt, to his credit, waits patiently behind her, wanting to urge her to hurry but giving her this one last moment. Ring clasped tightly in her fist, she brushes the hair from Flynn’s forehead with her other hand and pauses to take in his face for the last time, then stands, turns, and lets Wyatt lead her through the crowd, her body very much moving on autopilot.  She looks over her shoulder to Flynn's prone form, now rapidly drawing a crowd of horrified onlookers, and doesn't look away until she can no longer see him.

* * *

It's hours later that Lucy finally lifts her head from her arms and looks around her room, opting to stay seated against the cold metal wall.  She feels numb, in every sense of the word. 

The bunker is near silent, everyone having retired to their own rooms shortly after arriving back in the present.  Normally there would be a flurry of activity as dinner was prepared and they discussed any changes their mission to the past had affected on the current timeline, but this evening no one feels particularly sociable, and for good reason.  Lucy opens the door to her room and glances out into the common area. It’s empty for once, thankfully, and she leaves her room, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She pauses a moment, then wanders slowly to Flynn's room.

The silence in his room is somehow more deafening.  She half expects to see him sitting in the worn leather chair in the corner, a book in his lap and a gentle smile on his face as he looks up at her.  But the chair is empty, the room is empty, and his absence is cutting like a knife.

She sits on the edge of the bed and rests her hands on the worn wool blanket, absently smoothing out the wrinkles with her palms.  After a moment, she turns and lays down facing the wall. The pillow still smells of him, the sharp scent of his aftershave pulling her right back to 1888, and the look in his eyes as-

She finally can't hold the tears back any longer, and she presses both hands to her face as she breaks down, her sobbing quiet so as not to draw attention.  She can’t stand their faces when they look at her, not right now, those expressions of both pity and confusion that she’d be so distraught over the loss of the man who started this whole mess only a year previous.

For weeks already she'd had an internal struggle, trying to decipher her own feelings about Flynn.  It was true that he'd become her closest confidant in the past few months, the first person she turned to when she needed to talk, or even just someone to sit with in silence while they both read, with only occasional glances up at the other to share a smile.  Flynn knew exactly when to give her space and when she needed a push. Flynn knew _her_.

She isn’t sure how long she lays there, breathing in what’s left of his scent and committing it to memory, knowing it’s only a matter of time before that too will be gone.  How long before his face begins to fade? How long before she forgets the deep timbre of his voice as they spent hours talking through the night about everything Rittenhouse had taken from them?  His quiet laugh as he would recount memories of Iris and her tendency to play pranks like her mother that he would pretend to be surprised by (5 year olds not being masters of subtlety), or of Lorena and her utter inability to cook a damn thing, how he’d have to take over for her almost every night once she started swearing at the stove.  Each memory that Flynn shared with Lucy seemed to lower his walls more and more, and she would find herself wondering if this Flynn, his face soft and bemused, his voice quiet and warm, was the real him, before he lost everything and was left a hollow shell with a singular reason to live. And Lucy would in turn share with him memories of Amy, a spitfire who forced Lucy out of her comfort zone time and again; of her mother, so brilliant and kind before Rittenhouse stole her away; of Henry Wallace, the only loving father she’d ever known.

Eventually she slides a hand into her pocket and retrieves the wedding band, turning it over in her fingers, lost in thought. She’s still contemplating the ring when she hears it - the telltale sound of the Lifeboat snapping back into the present, followed shortly by the booming sound of metal slamming into metal.  In seconds she’s on her feet and heading toward the launch area, as are the rest of the team, and she briefly catches Wyatt’s eye as she leaves Flynn’s room. He says nothing despite his obvious curiosity, knows that for once he’s better off leaving it alone. They all converge near the blast door and are stunned to find a second Lifeboat near the first, the crashing sound they heard clearly the pods hitting each other as the aim on the landing was just slightly off.  They glance at each other in the ensuing silence, stunned, their faces quickly turning back as the second pod’s door opens. The silence stretches on painfully as Wyatt and Lucy, both looking worse for wear, emerge and stare down at them, eyes lingering briefly on their past selves before moving to scan the rest of the crowd.

“Well...what are you waiting on?” Lucy’s alternate self says, staring down at her with an eyebrow raised.  “You guys want to get Flynn back or what?”


	2. Chapter 2

Lucy stands in the corner of the kitchen, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, and frowns as she watches her future self digging into a bowl of leftover stew as if she hasn’t eaten for weeks.  The woman is entirely foreign to her, like an identical twin where the similarities start and end with appearance - and even there they diverge, her future self (Lucy-2, she decides, as this is already getting too confusing in her head) looking for all intents and purposes like a battle-worn soldier, right down to the sawed off shotgun she’d been wearing since exiting the Lifeboat that she has now opted to leave sitting at the end of the table.  Just _what_ sort of reality did they come from?  Does their fight with Rittenhouse go that poorly?  Lucy can only imagine what a world in which they were losing would look like and the thought makes her shiver.

Denise is peppering both visitors with questions, which Wyatt-2 tries to answer with occasional glances at Lucy-2, as if silently asking her permission to respond.  It’s no doubt a bit of a minefield for what information they can share without completely destroying their timeline, and their answers are therefore understandably vague, if given at all.

“We did some test jumps,” Lucy-2 finally says, pushing the empty bowl away and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.  “Just little jumps a few minutes back in our timelines, just to see if it would work - we figured if we then needed to...correct the timeline, we weren’t losing much.”  It’s unspoken, but they all know that ‘correct’ translates to ‘bullet to the head and try again’. “Our memories altered almost instantly, of course, but for the most part we were always able to return to the present without any issues.  Or any so far, anyway. Once we confirmed that Rufus and Connor’s modifications were functioning correctly, we attempted progressively bigger jumps, first a few weeks, then a few months, and still seemed to have no issues.”

“So where is Rufus?” Lucy asks, startling everyone, as if they’d forgotten that her and the Lucy seated at the table weren’t one and the same.  Clearly this is just as disorienting for everyone as it is for her. “Or Jiya for that matter. Where’s your pilot?”

“It took about a year, and a lot of time and effort, but we were able to get the whole team trained for piloting.  We didn’t want to risk a situation where we potentially lost both pilots and were left stranded.”

“Lost,” Jiya repeats.  “You mean if we were killed.  Is that...is that why we didn’t come with you and Wyatt?  Are we dead in the future?”

Lucy-2 has a neutral expression on her face, neither confirming nor denying.  “I can’t answer that. I’m sorry. I wish I could say more.”

Jiya and Rufus lock eyes, both looking like they might be ill.

“We have to keep details to a minimum.  It’s dangerous enough speaking to you all in the first place, but the benefits outweighed the risk in this case.”

Lucy drops her arms, her mouth set in a thin line.  “So if you can’t actually tell us anything useful, why did you come back?  Felt nostalgic and wanted a visit?”

Lucy-2 raises her eyebrows and smirks as if to say she approves of the attitude Lucy is giving her.  In a strange way it reminds Lucy of Flynn, and at that thought she feels a tight ache in her chest. She swallows and looks away, waiting for the feeling to subside.  If she can’t handle breaking down in front of her closest friends, she’s sure as hell not going to lose it in front of what are essentially two total strangers. But when she glances back at them, Lucy-2’s expression has softened, as if she knows exactly what’s running through Lucy’s head.  Which would make sense, she is forced to admit, as Lucy-2 has been here once before. Has been in every moment in her head, in fact, a realization which suddenly makes her feel somewhat faint, or sick, she’s not quite sure which.

Lucy swallows again and when she speaks her voice is quiet and strained.  “Sorry. I...I need to go. Excuse me.”

All eyes are on Lucy as she leaves.  “Let me talk to her,” Wyatt says, standing to follow, and Lucy-2 immediately grabs his wrist to stop him.

“No.  Let me.  I know what’s on her mind.”

Wyatt nods and takes a seat at the table across from himself (something that still hasn’t ceased to feel incredibly, mind bogglingly _fucked up_ ).  Lucy-2 gathers the leather satchel that hasn’t left her side since they arrived, considers whether to take her weapon as well and then seems to think better of it, and heads in the same direction as her past self.

 

* * *

 

Lucy is again seated on Flynn’s bed with her back to the wall, spinning the wedding band between her fingers and staring off into the distance, when she hears a quiet knock.  Without waiting for a response the door opens and her future self enters, closing the door behind her.

“Hey.  You okay?”

Lucy stares at her, face blank.  “Should we really be talking? Punching holes in the timeline and all that?”

“Trust me, as far as punching holes goes, this trip is a pinprick.” A pause.  “Well. So far, anyway.” Lucy-2 sits beside her on the bed, glancing briefly at the ring in Lucy’s hands.  “It’s still pretty fresh.”

It’s not a question.  Lucy nods all the same.  

Minutes pass as they sit in silence.  Lucy notices after some time that her companion’s hand has drifted up to her necklace and she’s sliding the pendant back and forth on the chain.  The gesture is so familiar - a habit she’d developed with her locket that used to drive her mother insane - that she smiles despite herself. And then Lucy-2’s fingers slip a bit and she sees the actual pendant - a gold ring.

“How does it feel?” Lucy asks quietly.  “Going back.”

“Honestly?  Like your whole life is nonstop deja-vu.  Memories update in real time, so while nothing seems too strange for you, for me…”  She presses her fingers to her temples, eyes closed. “The more you interact directly with your own timeline, the more it feels like a brutal hangover.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy finds herself saying, though she knows it’s not really her fault.  Lucy-2 chose to come back of her own volition, after all.

She waves off the apology.  “I actually have something for you.” Lucy-2 grabs her satchel from the end of the bed, and after a few seconds of rummaging, she pulls out a book, a book that Lucy recognizes very well.  The cover is just slightly more worn than when she last held the empty version her mother gave her, and at the same time not quite as worn as when Flynn first handed it to her. God, she doesn’t even remember at this point where she left it, so much has happened since.  This particular version seems to have every page filled, same as Flynn’s, though clearly not as well read.

Lucy slips the ring onto her thumb (the only finger that comes even close to fitting it) and takes the book, shooting herself a questioning look.  “Why are you giving me this?” Lucy asks quietly.

“We need your help.”

“I don’t understand.  Don’t you need this, to take it back to him?  To kick all this off in the first place?”

“Of course.  But I have a different plan in mind.  One I need your help with.”

Lucy looks down at the book held in her lap.  “I don’t see what help I can be. And there’s one thing I still don’t understand.  If you can go back to past timelines, why not just go stop this? Why not just go save Flynn?”

A sad smile crosses future Lucy's face.  “I thought about it.  Almost did it. But ultimately we realized the whole reason Flynn didn’t make it home was because Rufus _did_.  It wouldn’t be as simple as just going back and pushing him out of the way.  That bullet needed to hit someone, time needed things to go as planned, and if it wasn’t Rufus or Flynn, it would just be someone else, and we’d be back at square one.  We knew we had to go further back if we were truly going to fix things.”

It dawns on Lucy then.  “You want me to be the one that goes back.”

Her future self nods.  “I can’t tell you any of the details of the team’s discussion years from now - and if this all goes well, you won’t need them anyway - but we realized that this was the moment things went to hell.  This was the moment the train derailed. Flynn was never meant to die. And if we - if you - go back now, there’s a chance that the future we’ve lived through will never come to pass.”

She wants to ask what she means by that.  It’s evident just looking at them that the fight against Rittenhouse was far from over, and in fact may have just gotten exponentially worse.  Had to have gotten worse, actually, if Lucy was carrying around heavy weaponry when she’s still to this point only killed a handful of people in her entire life, and even thinking about those few incidents makes her stomach turn.  “You don’t just want to fix the future. You want to forget any of it ever happens. And that’s why it has to be me.”

“Yes.”  Lucy-2 sighs, fidgeting with her necklace again.  “Saying things don’t go well would be an understatement.  Which is exactly why I can’t tell you any real details. If we’re planning to change the timeline this drastically, you need a clean slate.”

She understands, or at least she thinks she does.  Regardless of experiencing it, hearing the details now would cement them in her memory forever.  She’d live with the horrifying knowledge of what was to come, with no way to stop it - or worse, possibly even inadvertently help steer things in that direction anyway.

Lucy meets her own gaze and nods.  “Well then. What do you need me to do?”

 

* * *

 

Both Lucys appear some time later, while the Wyatts are still deeply wrapped up in their discussion (with occasional input on technical details from Rufus, Jiya, and Connor, who are thankful to be the only versions of themselves on the present timeline - just watching the back and forth between the Wyatts is giving them all headaches and they can only imagine the debates they would get wrapped up in with themselves).  All discussion pauses as the Lucys seat themselves at the table again. Wyatt looks at the blue journal clasped in Lucy’s hand with a raised eyebrow, and she shakes her head as if to say she’ll explain later.

“What have we missed?” Lucy-2 asks.

“Just discussing the logistics of the trade,” her Wyatt answers, reaching to hand Lucy-2 her weapon that was still sitting at the opposite end of the table, as he can see the uncomfortable looks that Connor, Jiya and Rufus keep giving it.

“Swapping the Lifeboats, you mean.”  At their confused looks (as Lucy was decidedly not present during the last hour of discussion) she adds, “Other Lucy told me the plan.”

“Did she now?”  He gives his Lucy a curious look.  “Well, I guess we’re all on the same page then.  You’ll keep our upgraded Lifeboat here and use it to repair the timeline, while we take yours back to our present.  One Lifeboat per timeline, no risk of anyone getting their hands on a third time machine to go wreak havoc in the past- especially not Rittenhouse.  At this point in time they won’t even be aware you have the ability to visit your own timeline, and shouldn’t be able to follow you either. Obviously it’s best to keep it that way as long as possible.”

“How do we avoid tipping them off?” Denise asks from the corner.  She’s been a casual observer for most of the discussions, the science side of things not being exactly her forte, but this part is definitely in her wheelhouse.

Lucy-2 shrugs.  “The best suggestion I can make is just avoiding them.  Hopefully they’ll be so focused on the movements of our past selves, they won’t notice anything happening on the periphery.  And you won’t interact with yourselves at all, so that will help.”

“We won’t?”  Jiya’s brow furrows.  “Why not?”

She sighs.  “Rufus - my timeline’s Rufus - explains this a lot better than I will, but I’ll give it a shot.  When you go back in your own timeline, because the memories are being written in real time, the more versions of yourself you have running around possibly running into each other, the harder it is for the human brain to reconcile.  What ends up happening is-”

“Insanity,” Wyatt-2 finishes, looking at his hands clasped on the table.  “It’s not pretty.”

Lucy-2 shoots him a pointed look, a _Shut up you idiot_ if they ever saw one.  “The bottom line is you can only revisit your timeline once.  Two sets of memories is do-able. You just feel vague deja-vu, less so the further you are from your past self.  Any more than that is too risky.” She frowns. “Unfortunately that means you basically have one shot at this, and you’ll need to tread very, very lightly.”

“But then how do we change anything for the better, if we can’t interact with ourselves?” Rufus asks.

“We’ve figured out tougher situations than this.  I have faith in you all.” Lucy-2 and her past self share a brief glance that only the two of them notice.  They have, of course, spoken at far greater length about the plan one-on-one than with the team, the details of which will remain between the two of them alone.

“That’s all we get?” Wyatt asks, incredulous.  “Swap vehicles and good luck, try not to fuck it up?”

“I’ll do some reading,” Lucy interjects, taking the pressure off her future self to respond.  “We can brainstorm, think on it for a night. Reconvene tomorrow and come up with a solid plan.”

“Six heads are better than two,” Lucy-2 murmurs.  “You’re in a far better position to plan this out than us anyway.”

None of them like the sound of that.  Between Wyatt-2’s mention of time-induced insanity, and the repeated references to only the two of them, they’re all starting to worry about their own fates.  Jiya in particular is growing increasingly nervous about what visions may be yet to come, and whether the prediction of Rufus’s demise, or Flynn’s death, are only the tip of the iceberg.

With their discussion finished, future Wyatt and Lucy gather their things and head to the present-timeline Lifeboat.  Wyatt-2 is looking at it warily and Lucy-2 nudges him, grinning. “You’ve been spoiled. They’re the same ship, Wyatt.  If anything, this one is technically newer, probably more reliable.”

“Of course it’s reliable,” Rufus scoffs, somewhat offended they’re questioning the hard work he’s already put in with Lifeboat upgrades.  “Maybe it can’t do fancy things like revisiting timelines, but this baby survived 130 years in the woods and still functions perfectly.”

Connor coughs.  “Perfectly might be a stretch-”

“Okay, it needed a tiny, miniscule bit of work after that,” Rufus says, holding his fingers close together to emphasize just how little work it took.  Only he and Connor are aware of the considerable difficulty that was actually involved in repairing the Lifeboat prior to rescuing Jiya, but Rufus is hardly going to admit that when his pride is on the line.  The fact that the new upgrades will be his work as well doesn’t seem occur to him.

Lucy-2 laughs.  “See, Wyatt? Nothing to worry about.”

They all hug future Lucy and Wyatt in turn (the Wyatts instead opting for a brusque handshake). Lucy-2 reaches her past self last and takes her hands, smiling warmly.  “Good luck, Lucy.” She pulls her in for a tight hug, and quietly murmurs in her ear, “You’ll bring him home. I believe in you.” Lucy swallows the lump in her throat and hugs tighter; it sounds so painfully like something Amy would say.

They part, and she watches her future self crawl into their old, worn out Lifeboat after Wyatt.  The future Lucy turns back and watches them all, her face bright and hopeful, as the door finally slides shut.  It powers up slowly, the rotating rings building momentum and bending the gravitational field on itself until it finally blinks from existence, heading back to whatever bleak future they’d come from.

 

* * *

 

That night, once her team has wrapped up their discussions and retired to their rooms to research or rest for the remainder of the evening, Lucy again slips out of her room silently.  She glances around to make sure she’s alone, then heads for the Lifeboat, satchel slung over her shoulder. The Lifeboat door is still open from when it arrived, and she quietly rolls the stairs up to it and climbs inside, hitting the button to initiate the door close sequence behind her.  The interior is quite familiar, and yet starkly different, just as Lucy-2 said it would be. For one, there’s more seats, not to mention several more buttons added to the control panel...and far more bullet holes.

She sits in the pilot’s seat and takes a deep breath, her eyes scanning the console until she sees her target - a new button next to the panel where date and location are keyed in, printed with one word: AUTOPILOT.

_Here goes nothing._


	3. Chapter 3

_São Paulo, Brazil  
_ _2014_

São Paulo is bustling even at night, residents drifting steadily from one bar to the next.  It's laughter and music and joy, and Lucy feels a million miles away from it all.

She's been to six bars already.  Flynn couldn't have possibly made it easy for her and actually have told her the bar's name.  After all, she'd found him first, hadn't she, so he must have figured there’s no reason she wouldn’t know it - except she wouldn't be going back at all if he hadn't told her this, and her head is aching _again_ trying to keep it all straight.  Thankfully, the deja-vu that her future self had mentioned has yet to affect her, though she supposes the distance from her past self helps.

Figuring it as good a strategy as any, she makes her way down the road, flagging down occasional passersby and showing them a photo of Flynn.  It's not the most flattering photo, being that it's his mug shot from his brief stint in prison and he accordingly has a deadly glare on his face.  She doesn't get very far with this tactic, as most people glance at the photo and then rush away. Lucy sighs, again wishing she had literally any other photo of Flynn, but she hadn’t thought to grab any prior to hijacking the Lifeboat, and this was the only one that her future self had tucked into the pages of the journal.  Hindsight is 20/20.

Finally, after another hour of this song and dance, a man takes the photo from Lucy's hand and looks at it closer, nodding that he recognizes the subject.  Her heart beats faster and she attempts to ask him, in extremely broken Portuguese, where to find him. He gestures for her to hand him her phone (which she immediately bought a Brazilian SIM for upon arrival - it feels strange to actually seek out old technology after coming from a reality where everyone lives for the next upgrade) and she complies, watches him quickly key in an address.  He hands it back to her and she asks, again in butchered Portuguese, how long ago he saw him. The man points at his watch - 11:00 PM. Only an hour ago, then; unlikely he's moved on yet. She thanks him and follows the route displayed on her phone, turning what feels like a hundred corners before coming to a stop in front of a nondescript building tucked well out of the way of the main tourist area.  She glances at the sign above the door and her mouth drops open slightly. _You've got to be kidding me._  

Bar do Luciana.  

Time sure has a sense of humor.

Lucy pushes the door open, squinting to see in the abrupt darkness after the hustle and bustle of the streets outside.  Despite being the definition of a dive bar, Bar do Luciana is reasonably busy, though with far different clientele than those on the main strip.  Most patrons shoot her a look as she passes, which doesn’t surprise her. She must be screaming ‘lost tourist’ right about now.

She approaches the bar and orders a caipirinha, glances around the room while she waits for the bartender to finish preparing her drink.  He sets the glass down in front of her, and again Lucy holds out her unflattering photo of Flynn for the bartender to look at. He is nonplussed - it's clearly not the first time he's been shown a mugshot at work - and he nods his head toward the opposite corner, too dark to see from her current vantage point while in this lighting (or lack thereof).  Lucy thanks him and, drink in hand, meanders her way through tables in the direction he indicated.

And then she freezes, her breath catching in her throat, as she sees him.

Despite being several years in the past, Flynn somehow looks even older than the last time she saw him.  He looks disheveled, one hand tangled in his dark hair while he leans over the glass of whiskey he’s holding.  He's staring at the table, his stubbled face a mix of emotions - at one moment deep anger in his eyes, then fading to a look of agonizing grief.  He lets the hand in his hair drop to cover his eyes, his shoulders shaking as he hunches over even more.

She's never seen him more broken.

Lucy swallows, nervous to approach.  This is a Flynn she's never known - true, he'd had plenty of rage and pain to motivate him while she, Rufus, and Wyatt had chased him through history.  But this is different. This grief is fresh, crippling him, drowning him in it, and she has no idea how he'll respond to the admittedly batshit-insane story she's about to tell him.

"Garcia Flynn?”

He immediately looks up, a hand reaching behind his back for the pistol no doubt tucked in his waistband.  Lucy immediately raises both hands in front of her to show she's unarmed. 

"I'm not Rittenhouse, Flynn.”  

Suspicion in his eyes, he asks, “How the hell do you know that name?  Or my name for that matter?” She can hear the slight slur in his voice, his accent somewhat thicker than what she’s used to.

“I'm a friend. I just want to talk.”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life.”  His hand is still behind his back, though he has yet to actually pull the gun on her.  She knows she has a limited window to convince him of her benign intentions before he just opts to shoot her, but truth be told she has no idea how to win the trust of someone who doesn’t know what trust is anymore.

“Not yet.  But you will.”

This gives him pause.  “What the  _ fuck _ does that mean?”

Lucy takes a deep breath to steady herself.  “You’re Garcia Flynn, born 1975 to Asher Flynn and Maria Thompkins.  Your half brother Gabriel died in 1969.” She watches him move the gun from his waistband to the seat beside him, barrel pointed in her direction and hand still gripping it tightly.  

“All information readily available to Rittenhouse,” he says quietly.  The look in his eyes is far more intense and frightening than anything she’s seen from him before.  He pulls back the hammer on his pistol with a quiet  _ click _ .  

Lucy’s breath quickens in panic, her heart pounding in her chest.  “Wait, wait, okay.” She racks her brain frantically for something, anything to convince him not to just shoot her on the spot.  “Iris. Iris, your daughter, she loved playing pranks on you and Lorena; she got it from her mother.” This briefly breaks through Flynn’s anger somewhat, as he abruptly looks shocked.  “Lorena used to warm her feet on your legs at night, and she was a terrible cook but you loved that about her.” The words are tumbling out quickly in her panic. “You were teaching Iris Croatian this school year, and she complained the whole time,  but you made her keep it up because you were going to go home for Christmas for the first time since she was born .”

“How do you know all that?” Flynn says quietly, looking wounded.

Lucy lowers her hands slowly and pulls the ring from her thumb, setting it down on the table in front of him.  “I know everything. Because you told me, Flynn.” She nods her head at the ring.

Flynn lets go of the gun and picks up the ring instead.  He rotates it until the light catches on the words etched inside.  _ Zauvijek moj dragi _ .  He looks sharply at Lucy, a mixture of anger and confusion in his eyes, and sets the ring down quickly, as if it burns to touch.  “What the hell is going on? What is this, is this a….a  _ copy _ of my wedding ring?  Why-”

“It’s not a copy.”  She slides into the booth next to him, confidence bolstered.  At the very least he’s no longer reaching for the gun between them.  “You don’t know me, but I know you. Really well, actually.” She takes the ring from the table and slides it back onto her thumb, smiling to herself.  “Or...I will know you, anyway.” Flynn is silent, staring blankly. “This is going to sound insane, but I promise that if you trust me, I can help you burn Rittenhouse to the ground.”

She spends the next few minutes giving him the Coles Notes version of what she knows about Rittenhouse, careful to leave out any real details that might affect the progression of timeline zero.  She only has one shot at this, after all.

She finishes speaking and reaches into her satchel - again, slowly, and with her hands visible so as not to set him off - and pulls out her blue leather journal, the gold embossed  _ LP _ barely visible in the low light.

And then she flips it open, and rips out the first fifteen pages.

“In 2016, Rittenhouse will succeed in building a time machine, courtesy of Mason Industries.”  She hands him the pages. “I need you to steal it.”

“A time machine.”  He laughs derisively, though he takes the pages handed to him.  “And here I thought I’d had a lot to drink. Listen, lady, I don’t know who you are, but-”

“Lucy.”

“What?”

She smiles, meeting his eyes.  God, it feels so good to see him alive and well again.  “Lucy Preston. I’m a history professor at Stanford University.  Or I was, once upon a time. I probably still am at this moment, somewhere out there.”  He’s looking understandably lost, and she hands him her phone. “Go ahead, look me up.”

Flynn complies, if only because he has nothing better to do while finishing his third whiskey.  “Quite the prolific author, professor,” he says, not looking up from the phone as he scrolls through her bibliography.

“Once, maybe.”  She looks away. “Not a lot of time for writing anymore.  Rittenhouse takes everything from you - your passions, the people you love - whether or not you’re part of their twisted cult.  I’ve lost...so much.” 

His face softens at that.  “I can relate,” he murmurs.

Lucy decides to take the gamble and slides closer to Flynn.  “I know. Your family. It must have just happened recently. I’m so sorry, Flynn.”

His jaw goes tense and he looks at her with narrowed eyes.  “Don’t talk about my family like you know them.”

She senses things veering off track and nods quickly.  “You’re right, I don’t know them. But from what you’ve told me about them, they seem like they were wonderful people.”

His lip shakes and he quickly covers his mouth with his hand to hide it, looking away as he composes himself.  “Yeah. Yeah, they were.” His voice is quiet and strained.

“Listen, Flynn.  If even a small part of you is willing to trust me, just read those pages I gave you.  The whole plan is in there, all the details you’ll need to pull it off. One easy theft, a quick trip back, and you can take out the bastards who did this to you.”  She can’t help but feel a bit like she’s lying to him there - though technically true in her timeline, it wouldn’t come to pass for him for a very long time, if at all.  She has no idea how this plan will turn out, after all.

“My girls would be back?”  He stares at Lucy, the first glimmer of life on his face as hope flares in his eyes.

“It must be worth a shot.”  She’s careful to answer in a noncommittal way; the last thing she needs is to lose his trust down the line when it doesn’t play out that way immediately.  “Do you have anything to lose trying?”

Flynn considers this.  “It’ll be prison time, if it doesn’t work.  Though I suppose I can kill myself as easily in prison as I could outside of it.”

Lucy is taken aback.  She knew he was in this state at this time, he told her himself, but to actually hear it from his mouth is jarring, to say the least.  “You won’t go to prison.”  _ Another lie, Lucy, you’re really racking them up here. _  “It works.  But only if you trust me.”

He sits back in the booth, holding the pages in his lap, staring across the room at nothing as he mulls her words.  Her heart is pounding again.  _ One shot. _

“Fine.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“What do I need to do, then?”

Lucy takes a few minutes to explain the logistics of the plan to him.  He frowns when she mentions how many years will need to pass before he’ll even be able to attempt the robbery, but he says nothing.  Once she’s finished, he’s silent a beat, then flips through the pages. “Who wrote this, anyway?”

“Me, actually.”

He looks briefly impressed as he skims through it.  “This is...very thorough, professor. I wasn’t aware any PhDs included training in espionage.”  A hint of a genuine smile as he glances briefly at her. A flicker of the real him.

Lucy chuckles.  “I wish I could take credit.”

“Not your plan, then?”

She sighs.  “Yes and no.  It’s...extremely complicated to explain at this moment.”

“But it’ll work, according to you.”

“I can guarantee it.”

Flynn nods.  “Then we have a deal, Ms. Preston.”

Lucy holds out her hand.  “Call me Lucy.”

He shakes her offered hand, that damn familiar smirk on his face.  It’s always been equal parts maddening and endearing to her. “And what part do you play in this?”

She grips the journal tighter in her lap.  “You’ll see me again. A few times, actually.  When we meet next, I won’t know you. I’ll be back to help you, only in the background, but in the meantime you’re going to have to convince me that Rittenhouse exists.  The...current me. And I’m going to piss you off, considerably, at first. You’ll probably want to kill me. I recommend you don’t.” She smiles. “We make...quite the team, one day.”

His brow furrows.  “I can already tell this is going to give me a headache.”

“You get used to it.” Lucy laughs softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  “Promise.”

They look at each other, savoring the brief moment that they both forget everything they’ve gone through and just exist as two strangers getting to know one another.  And then the moment passes, and both feel the ensuing guilt at forgetting even for a moment the ones they’ve lost.

They leave the bar together, Flynn offering to walk Lucy to her car.   _ Ever the gentleman. _  She shakes her head, smiling.  “I’ll be fine. But promise me, Flynn,  _ promise me _ , if you decide to go along with this plan, that you’ll follow what I’ve written to a T.”  She reaches for his hand and squeezes it tightly. “We have only one shot at this and it needs to go according to plan, or I don’t know what will happen in the future.  What I’ll go home to.”  _ If this works, hopefully it’ll be Flynn alive and well. _

He looks at the pages in his hand again and licks his lips, and the sight of the familiar habit gives her that burn in her chest that she’s starting to get used to.  “I still don’t know if I believe you.”

“Just keep an eye on Mason Industries.  And be ready.”

Lucy squeezes his hand once more, then lets him go and turns to leave.  From over her shoulder she hears, “Until next time, then.” 

She doesn’t turn.  “See you soon.”

* * *

The next time Flynn sees Lucy, he has just left her stranded in 1754.  For her it’s mere minutes, the time it takes to key in the next Lifeboat destination (she’s not heading home until she’s finished, she has no desire to take in each little change as it happens, feel the anxiety that any second she’ll find out something went wrong), but for him, years - though on the other hand, only hours.

He has that headache again.

She’s waiting in the church as he returns with his men; he spots her as he climbs out of the Mothership, sitting on a pew in the far dark corner.  Flynn quickly dismisses his men for the evening, and once they’ve all dispersed, goes to sit next to her.

“Believe me now?” she asks, tilting her head to face him and wearing her own little smirk, knowing full well he’s likely forgotten most of the details of their conversation years prior.

“I believed you the moment wire transfers started to flood into Mason Industries accounts from an anonymous shell corporation.”

“And you’re still following the script?”

“I think so.”  He shrugs. “You were a bit vague on some parts so I’ve been forced to improvise.  Though I admit this last particular task threw me for a bit of a loop.”

She waves him off.  “I’ll be fine. We figure it out.  But more importantly, I have more pages for you.”  These ones she pre-ripped shortly after arrival and she hands him the stack.  “You’ll be pleased with the next trip, I think.”

He looks at her questioningly and quickly scans the first page.  “The moon landing? Are you sure we want to be messing with that?”

“Flynn, you have to start trusting me that this is all for a reason.”

“Your...old self is making that a bit hard.  Fighting me nonstop. I was ready to tear my hair out by the time you finally admitted you believed me about Rittenhouse.  I have no idea how we’re going to get from here to the point that we’re allies, if what you’ve told me of the future is true.”

“Just be patient with me.”  She looks up at the Mothership.  “You’ll get through to me. Just keep trying.”

Still skeptical, Flynn nods and turns his attention back to the pages he’s been given.  “So what is it I’ll be please with?”

“Oh, right.”  Reaching into her trusty satchel, Lucy retrieves a syringe of epinephrine and hands it to him.

“What is this for?” he asks, and she waits for him to connect the dots.  “Wait. 1969. This is the year my brother died.”

“Bee sting.  Anaphylactic shock, your mother couldn’t get him to the hospital in time and didn’t have have an epinephrine kit on hand, didn’t even know he was allergic until that day.”

“Wait, are you saying...”  He looks at her, his face briefly lit up.  “Do I save my brother?”

She nods.  “You do. Gabriel lives in Paris in my time.”  She can see the question he’s burning to ask and adds, “I can’t tell you anything about your relationship with him.  Unfortunately you never told me much about him.” Another lie, as Lucy is well aware Flynn and his brother don’t speak again after he’s framed for murdering Lorena and Iris.  Or at least they hadn’t by the time he’d-

“There’s some other tasks in there,” she says quickly, cutting off that last thought.  “But you’re fairly hands off for this one, Anthony does most of the legwork. Just a quiet family reunion for the most part.”

Flynn has a small smile on his face as he looks down at the pages in hand.  “My whole life, my mother always seemed so sad, lost in her grief. Having the chance to take that away for her is...indescribable.”  Flynn sets his hand gently on Lucy’s. “Thank you, Lucy.”

She takes a sharp breath.  There’s that burn again, but this time it’s...different.  The grief is dulled a bit, this new feeling taking over instead.  She reminds herself of the stakes, to not get her hopes up too much.  He’s alive and well with her now, but they still have quite a ways to go before she’ll be able to go home to him alive and well in the present.

“You’re welcome, Flynn.”

“Garcia.  You asked me to use your first name, it’s only fair you use mine.”

She’s surprised by this.  Not even in her current timeline had Flynn openly asked her to use his first name.  It seems so foreign to her; she’s known his name since the start of all this, but she doesn’t recall a time she’d ever used it to address him.

“In that case...you’re welcome, Garcia.”

Hearing his name roll off her tongue gives Flynn an odd feeling, and he pulls his hand away from hers a fraction too quickly.  “Well then. I’d best rest up for Houston. And I’m sure you need to run off to wherever it is you go when you’re not around.”

She doesn’t bother telling him she hasn’t slept since before he first met her.  There’s still too much she’s not able to say, no reason to muddy the waters any further.  Flynn doesn’t notice as Lucy lingers at the exit and watches him lay down on his cot and set to reading the new journal pages.  Again that image flashes in her mind, of him seated in that worn leather chair holding a new book every few days. She smiles and disappears out into the night.

* * *

It’s a cold and rainy California night when she comes again.

Flynn is standing at the entrance to Hyde Street Pier, blowing on his hands to keep warm.  He hears her footsteps well before he actually sees her. She’s calm, unhurried, smiling as always as she draws near.

“Found some new reading material, have you?”

Flynn nods, knowing she can only be referencing the Rittenhouse letter he’s just retrieved, and he pulls it from his pocket to offer her.  Lucy shakes her head.

“I know what it says.”

“Of course you do.”  He shoves the paper back into his pocket, and the historian in her cringes as she hears it crumple.  Okay, so they obviously wouldn’t be showing anyone the content of the letter, but still... _ Benedict Arnold wrote it. _  He was an ignorant piece of shit, without a doubt, but it was still a tangible piece of history being unceremoniously crushed in a pocket.

“What pages do you have for me this time?”

They take a seat on a nearby bench.  A fine mist is falling, classic San Francisco weather, and despite how hard she tries to avoid it, Lucy shivers.  She’s not exactly dressed for the weather, still wearing the same thin blouse she’d had on when she departed the present.  Didn’t even have the foresight to bring a jacket. 

Flynn notices, and quickly sheds his own jacket to drape around her shoulders.  The thick turtleneck he’s wearing underneath is more than enough to keep him warm.  Her cheeks burn, that fluttering in her chest once again making an appearance.  _ Stop it, Lucy,  _ she chastises herself _.  More important things are at stake here. _

“No pages this time, actually.”  She still can’t look at him in her flustered state, and she’s thankful for the cool breeze coming off the water.  “You’ve got two trips left on the ones I gave you before, if my timeline is correct.”

His brow furrows in confusion.  “Then why did you come?”

“This next one is important.  You’re going to need a bargaining chip.”  Lucy reaches into her pocket and retrieves a slip of paper, hands it to Flynn.  He unfolds it, looking no less confused once he’s read it.

“Who is ‘Wes Gilliam’?”

“That’s the name of the man who killed Jessica Logan.”  She grins, drawing Flynn’s jacket closer around herself, absolutely swimming in it but relishing the warmth.  “You need our help this time, and that name is going to keep Wyatt from shooting you immediately.”

When she finally returns to the Lifeboat, she allows herself a moment to breathe, rather than immediately jumping again.  She mixes a coffee from the small emergency food supply that’s stored under one of the floor panels, and sits by the open door, savoring the feel of the ocean air.  She drapes the jacket over herself, using it as a blanket, and smiles as she catches the familiar scent of his sandalwood aftershave on the collar.

* * *

The next time Lucy sees Flynn, he’s angry.


	4. Chapter 4

****Lucy was prepared for some degree of annoyance from Flynn following the incidents with John Rittenhouse and the Chicago World’s Fair.  What she isn’t prepared for is full blown rage. The moment she steps into the church and sees him standing near the Mothership, he whips around, his face going dark as he sees her.

“Did you know?”  He’s striding quickly toward her, and Lucy has an instinctive urge to run, but she stands her ground.  Soon he’s towering over her, 6’4 and glaring. _So this is how people feel when Flynn is trying to intimidate._  She suddenly has a bit more sympathy for the various people she’s watched him rough up in the past.  Thankfully he hasn’t yet resorted to his favorite technique of grabbing them by the lapels and shoving them against a wall, but with the way he’s looking at her right now, she wouldn’t put it past him.

“Know what?” she asks, though she’s well aware.  This just seems to set him off more and he snatches her wrist and yanks her close, his grip tight enough to be uncomfortable but not quite painful.

“Stop playing dumb.  There’s no way you wouldn’t have known what would happen.  This could have been over!”

Ah.  A rehash of this old argument, almost word for word.  She’s running on almost no sleep, and definitely not in the mood for it.  For a moment the exasperation shows on her face, and she feels his grip on her wrist tighten as he sees it.  She looks him in the eyes, her face calm. “Flynn, let me go.”

“Why?  So you can run off and screw me over again?”

“I’m not going anywhere, so let me go.”

He whips her around so her back is to the Mothership before releasing her.  He’s now between her and the main exit, which is fine as she has no intention of leaving until she’s finished what she came to do.

Flynn shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath to compose himself, then closes in on Lucy again.  Both of them glaring, both of them too stubborn to back down. This is closer to the Flynn she’s used to, or at least had experience with.  This Flynn she knows how to work with. And she knows somehow that no matter his anger, he won’t hurt her. Whether that’s because she still holds the rest journal in her possession, or because of some fondness he has for her, she isn’t sure.

At least 10 full seconds of silence go by as they glare at each other, before Flynn’s anger finally subsides.  He slumps into one of the wooden pews next to them, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees, looking positively exhausted.  Seeing this, Lucy’s own anger dissipates. She’s starting to understand the reason he was so enraged. He’s been trusting her wholeheartedly to this point, and as far as he can tell (without the context that she’s withholding), she’s betrayed him and stood in the way of this whole thing being over.  The last person left in this world that he trusted, and even she betrayed him. She wished she could make him see the full picture, see the benefit in events unfolding as they are.

“Garcia,” she finally says gently.  “He was a child. A brainwashed child.  And no matter how deeply you’re suppressing the humanity in you, I _know_ you don’t want to have the blood of a child on your hands.”

He says nothing.

“It would make you no better than Rittenhouse, who saw nothing wrong in ending a beautiful little girl’s life.”

This gets through to him.  All the anger is gone now. Instead Flynn just looks weary and tired.  She wishes she could scold him like she used to, _You need some sleep and I won’t take no for an answer so get your ass back to that bunk_ , but they don’t have that relationship anymore.

Or rather, they don’t have it _yet_.

“How much longer does this go on?” he asks quietly, not bothering to look at Lucy.  She sits in the pew in front of him, leaning over the back to face him. “It feels like no matter what I do, we’re no closer to taking down Rittenhouse than when we started.”

“We’re very close,” Lucy says gently.  “I know you’re tired, I know you don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel.  But we are so, _so_ close.  Please hang on.”

As the words come out of her mouth, she winces, remembering the last time she said the same thing to him. The weight of him against her as he bled out.  The feel of his rough palm against her cheek. The surge of grief must show on her face as Flynn finally looks up at her, this time with sympathy.

“Your sister?” he asks.  Not realizing he’d been watching her, Lucy nods.  He’s already feeling defeated, no need to add the news of his demise to the pile of things weighing on his mind.  Flynn leans back in the pew with that far away look on his face again. “I’m sorry. I hope you know I never intended for that to happen.”

Lucy smiles.  “I know.” She reaches into her satchel finally, her real reason for coming to see him, and retrieves the next few pages, this time only a few sheets.

Flynn takes them from her and skims as per usual.  “That’s it?”

“For now.  And now that I’ve helped you this far along and hopefully proven that you can trust me, I need a favor from you.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll be retrieving someone from the past this time.  She’s a former pilot that Mason Industries thinks was lost on a mission.  Her name is Emma Whitmore. I need to speak with her.”

“About what?”

Lucy shakes her head.  “This is one of those things I can’t tell you the details of or it could break the timeline.  But trust me. It’s important she and I speak.”

What Lucy conveniently fails to mention to Flynn is the Glock 9mm she has waiting back at the Lifeboat, and that she has no intention of speaking to Emma at all.

* * *

Lucy is waiting at the church already as the Mothership reappears.  She feels the Glock against the small of her back, cold and heavy, and takes a steadying breath.  Killing people has never been easy for her...but Emma is different.

She’s never hated anyone more than she hates Emma Whitmore.

Lucy slips behind a pillar near the church entrance as the door opens, keeping herself out of sight, waiting for Flynn’s men to disperse as usual, which they do.  What she doesn’t anticipate is Emma leaving with them. Lucy puts a hand to the gun behind her back, debating how hard it would be to shoot her from across the room, but ultimately lets her hand drop.  She’s never been a good shot, never _wanted_ to be, and missing the shot would do far more harm than good at this point, not to mention get her killed in the ensuing return fire.   _What is Flynn doing?_

When they’re alone again, Lucy finally steps out from behind the pillar.  Instinctively Flynn pulls his gun and trains it on her, lowering it quickly and letting out a breath once he realizes who it is approaching him.  “I was wondering whether you were here yet or not. For future reference, I don’t do well with surprises.”

“Neither do I.”  Her lack of sleep is starting to get to her, her patience worn paper thin.  “I told you I needed to speak with her - so you send her away?”

Something is off.  She isn’t sure what, but she can sense a change in Flynn’s demeanor.  To this point he’d been increasingly familiar with her each time she saw him, wary but still opening up, but this Flynn feels like slamming into a brick wall.

“It was a long journey back to the Mothership from the cabin, so I opted to have my own chat with her.”

_Oh no._

Never in her life had Lucy met someone quite as good at manipulation as Emma-fucking-Whitmore.

“She explained Rittenhouse’s plans for the Mothership.  Turns out they’re going to plant sleeper agents all through history, waiting to be activated so they can alter things to their benefit.  I mentioned your trio, how hard you’ve been working with Rittenhouse to stop me. How hard you fought to keep John Rittenhouse safe.”

Lucy’s eyes widen.  This is some next level manipulation.  Technically all true, but twisted to fit a very specific narrative.  “No, Flynn, you don’t understand-”

He shows no indication of hearing her.  “Then I had to wonder...how exactly have you been getting around each time we meet, traveling to your own timeline, something that everyone is adamant you can’t do, and always seemingly having all the answers?  And why are you always alone, without your trusty team?”

She feels faint.  Everything she’s built up, the tentative trust she’d gained in helping him, is crashing down.  She had one shot at this, she should have known Emma wouldn’t miss an opportunity to twist the facts.  Her loathing of Lucy stems from far more than simply being enemies. Emma has always had a twisted jealousy of sorts, knowing that despite her loyalty to Rittenhouse, she could never quite live up to the legacy of the Preston-Cahill’s pureblood daughter - she’d always be an outsider, while Lucy would be destined for eventual greatness.  The fact that Lucy wanted no part of it has never made much difference.

Lucy reaches for Flynn’s hand.  This time, however, he pulls it away, keeping her at a distance.

“Garcia, please, you have it all wrong.”   Her eyes are pleading with him to understand.  All she gets in return is a cold stare. “There’s something you don’t know about Emma.”  She debates the effect her next words might have on the timeline, but knows she has no choice but to tell him.

“And what would that be?”

“She’s Rittenhouse.”

“Yes, I’m aware she was being blackmailed by them-”

“No, Flynn - she’s _still_ with them.”

Flynn laughs coldly.  “So the supposed Rittenhouse double-agent, who was in hiding from them for 10 years just to get away, freely tells me their plans and cooperates with me fully.  Meanwhile, the mysterious stranger from the future has been cryptic about everything from the start, handing me information in bits and pieces, never quite giving me the bigger picture.  What was it you said all those years ago? ‘One easy theft, a quick trip back, and then you can take them out.’ It’s been a hell of a lot more than one quick trip, Lucy, and when the opportunity to take Rittenhouse out for good presented itself, you conveniently stopped me.  So tell me. Why should I believe anything you say?”

He’s right.  Everything her past self has been doing to fight against him on Rittenhouse’s behalf, all of her cryptic words and half-truths (or outright lies), her adamant insistence that he follow her instructions to the letter.  It looks bad, no matter how much it’s being twisted and misinterpreted, and she can’t blame him for falling for it. Emma is nothing if not an excellent actress.

“I helped you save your brother, didn’t I?” she says weakly, grasping at what straws she has left.  “Gave you the leverage you needed to get to David Rittenhouse. Why would I do any of that if I was working for them, Flynn?”

“I asked myself the same.  And then I put myself in your shoes.  What better way to ensure instructions are followed than by winning the desperate fool’s trust first?”

“That’s not why I did it!”

“Then tell me why!”

Her mouth hangs open as she searches for the words to explain her actions.  Flynn waits silently, and when she says nothing, shakes his head and turns away from her.  “Leave, Lucy. And if you come again, I _will_ shoot you.”

She feels tears burning behind her eyes.  Her plan was going smoothly, this task should have been no different.  She knew Flynn to be a deeply intelligent man, she should have known in the absence of context he’d put his own together.  Should have known Emma would find some way to ruin everything, as she always did.

_To hell with it._

“I did it for you.”

Flynn is halfway across the room when she calls out, and he pauses, turns slightly to look back at her.  Then he shakes his head, as if chastising himself for ever having believed her, and walks away.

* * *

The whole walk back to the Lifeboat Lucy is in a daze.  Her plan had hinged on this moment, everything building up to finally putting a bullet in Emma’s head.  Instead, the bitch had managed to slip out of harm’s way yet again, blowing up Lucy’s whole plan in the process, and she’d barely even had to lift a finger to do it.

Back inside the Lifeboat, Lucy waits for the door to finish it’s closing sequence, then stands with her back to the wall, her eyes still burning with tears of frustration that she refuses to let fall.  The events of the past hour keep running through her head. Her one shot, blown.

Lucy turns and abruptly slams her fist against the metal wall.  The pain is dulled by the anger she’s feeling and she hits the wall again, yelling in rage, over and over until her knuckles are bloodied and she’s out of breath.  Then, finally spent, she slides her back down the wall into a seated position, hugs her knees and lowers her head. The agonizing grief has surged back, the knowledge that she’ll go home and he’ll still be dead and there is _nothing_ she can do to stop it.

She failed.

Eventually Lucy looks up, wiping her tired eyes and wincing as the movement of her bloodied hand sends a stab of pain up her forearm.  She’s starting to really feel it now. The actual lacerations are not particularly bad, a little worse than paper cuts, but she can already see bruises forming near her knuckles.

The emergency food supply conveniently also includes a first aid kit, which she retrieves.  There’s not much she can do for her hand, so she wraps a compression bandage around it to keep swelling down and swallows two ibuprofen for the pain.  Once her injury is tended to, she replaces the first aid kit in the storage compartment, and glances around the Lifeboat interior. Her eyes fall on the leather jacket Flynn had left with her, folded carefully on one of the empty seats, and she reaches for it.  She needs rest, desperately needs it, and has no rush to get anywhere else. Has no idea where else she can even go except home, and the thought of returning having failed is unbearable.

Lucy lays down, using the jacket as a pillow.  It’s not long before her eyes are fluttering closed, sheer exhaustion taking over, and her last thought is of Flynn sitting beside her on the bunker couch to watch a movie, not moving a muscle as she drifted off on his shoulder.

* * *

She wakes more determined than ever to salvage the plan.  The full night of sleep has done her a world of good, and she has a quick instant coffee before pulling out the journal and setting to reading.  Her plan to take out Emma, thus preventing the lethal shot from taking place at all, had failed. She’ll have to look further back in the chronology, find another loophole to exploit.

And after an hour of research, she does.

She quickly shoves the journal back into her bag and gets to her feet, sliding into the pilot seat and strapping in.  The Lifeboat hums as it powers up, and she punches in a date before hitting her trusty autopilot switch.

_San Diego - 1980_


	5. Chapter 5

Flynn can’t sleep.

It could be the fact that his men decided all at once it was time to abandon ship.  It could be his general wariness around Emma. It could be the nightmares that seem to be ramping up the closer he gets to the finish line.

Or it could be the self-loathing he’s been feeling ever since he sent Lucy away.

He takes another drag on the cigarette he’s holding as he lays on the grassy hillside next to their latest safe house, an abandoned warehouse in the countryside.  He’d never been much of a smoker, isn’t a fan of the habit, but right now it’s soothing his frayed nerves. Above him is a clear night for once, all the stars visible, and he smiles as he remembers a night years ago where he laid with Iris on a blanket in their backyard, watching a meteor shower and teaching her the constellations until she drifted off in his arms.

The end is so close now.  He’s learned the date of the Rittenhouse summit, even without Lucy’s journal pages to guide him, and he and Emma are planning to head out at midnight the next day.  They’ve already gathered their weapons and a sizable stack of C4 in the Mothership, and the only step left is to determine the location, which they’ll need to get when they arrive.  There’s nothing more they can do tonight except rest up. 

So, naturally, he can’t get  _ her _ off his mind.

If he’s being truly honest, he’s no longer certain his theory of her working for Rittenhouse is actually correct.  It would certainly make things easier if it were. He doesn’t do well with vague, with having to have faith in people, prefers absolutes and control.  If he can write off Lucy entirely, then there’s no uncertainty, he can trust his own plan and know exactly where he’s going. And yet, somehow, without her guidance he feels even more like he’s stumbling in the dark than before.

Her eyes.  He can’t get the way she looked at him out of his head, her brown eyes pleading with him.  Sure, there is a possibility she’s just a fantastic actress, Rittenhouse certainly has plenty of people in their employ who are experts at smiling to your face while they drive the knife into your back.  But the way she looked at him felt genuine, desperate. And her words -  _ I did it for you _ .  What the hell did that even mean?

Even if he’s had a change of heart about accepting her help, it hardly matters.  He has no way of contacting her, outside of speaking to her present self, and that’s an excellent way to get a bullet to the head from her trusty soldier sidekick.  The present Lucy wouldn’t even know what the hell he’s talking about. And he’d told this Lucy,  _ his _ Lucy, that if she ever came back she should expect to be shot.  He hadn’t just closed that door - he’d welded it shut.

Off to his left, he hears the sound of branches snapping, and he abruptly sits up, eyes scanning the trees.  He immediately reaches for his pistol, training it on the darkness. When nothing emerges, Flynn gets to his feet and makes his way toward the woods, flicking the safety off on his gun, finger gently resting against the trigger.  He moves slowly through the trees, methodically, careful where he puts his weight so as to remain silent. It’s too dark to see much, though his eyes are slowly adjusting, and after a short walk he finally spots a sliver of light through the bushes.  He crouches, squinting, trying to make out the shape.  _ Is that….the Lifeboat? _

He worries for a moment that present Lucy and her team have found him, that any second Wyatt will come running with guns blazing.  But as his eyes scan the capsule, he notices the minute differences - the polished yet pockmarked metal, looking at once new but also like it’s been through hell.  It is the Lifeboat, that much is for sure, but something is off.

Flynn dashes across the open space between the woods and the machine, and leans his back against the side.  The front is open, hence the light source from earlier, and the snapping branches were no doubt the rough landing it appears to have had. 

From inside the capsule, he hears a small gasp of pain.  This spurs him into action, confirmation that he’s not alone, and he whips around the corner, gun trained on the door.  “Show yourself. I’m armed.” He pulls the hammer back on the pistol just to make his point.

And Lucy, bent over with one hand on the pilot seat to keep herself standing, spins around with hands held aloft, surprise and fear in her eyes.

Immediately Flynn lowers his gun, letting out the breath he was holding.  There’s no sight of Wyatt nor Rufus, which can only mean one thing. This is  _ his _ Lucy.  

And she looks like she’s been through hell.

Flynn shoves the gun back into the shoulder holster he’s wearing, switching the safety back on, and hauls himself up into the capsule.  Lucy still hasn’t fully lowered her hands, and the fear in her eyes still hasn’t gone away. She’s afraid. From present Lucy, he was used to it by now.  From this Lucy, well...he knows he did it to himself. He threatened to shoot her if she came back, and she knows he’s a man of his word.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Lucy,” he says quietly, approaching her, but she takes a cautious step away from him all the same, wincing as she does.  Now that he’s in the full light of the cockpit, he can see her face clearly. One eye is ringed in deep purple, her lip split and dried blood still lightly smeared across her chin from it.  Her blouse is torn at the shoulder, and one hand is wrapped in a compression bandage, still an angry shade of red.  _ What the hell happened to her? _

The extent of her injuries spurs him into action, and he reaches for her, intending to guide her into the pilot seat, but she shies away from his hands like a spooked animal.  “Lucy, please, I just want to help.” He keeps his distance, for her sake, but something in his voice seems to finally ease her fear, and he can see her tension melt away. Again she puts a hand to the pilot seat to support herself, and he takes this as a sign that he can finally come close and ease her into it.  

A first aid kit was already laid out in one of the passenger seats, and he rummages through it, retrieving various supplies.  He wets some gauze using a bottle of water he spots nearby, and gently presses it to her lip, dabbing her chin to wipe away the blood there.  She stares over his shoulder as he tends to her wounds, looking at nothing. This is a far cry from the future Lucy he’s used to. She seems broken, the usual determined fire in her eyes gone out.  He finishes applying ointment to the cut on her lip and sets the first aid supplies back on the passenger seat, then leans back on his heels.

“Are you okay?”

This is all it takes for her to seemingly remember he’s even there.  Her eyes scan over his face, some sort of recognition finally showing, and before he can react Lucy slides off the seat to her knees, grips his jacket tightly, and buries her face against his shoulder.  He’s thrown off balance, literally and otherwise, and takes a knee to steady himself as he wraps both arms around her. He’s confused, concerned, but doesn’t speak.

“Flynn, I...I can’t…”  She lets go of his jacket and slips her arms up around his neck, pulling herself closer, holding on tightly to him like she might fall into an abyss at any moment. Flynn has never seen her like this, and he grips her more firmly, her head resting just below his chin.  After a minute or two of this, his knee grows sore, and he eases himself into a sitting position on the floor with his back against the seat behind him. Lucy seats herself next to him.

“What happened?” he asks again quietly.

“I tried, Flynn,” she murmurs, eyes cast low.  “You have to know I tried. I was too late, they got there first.”

Flynn has no idea what she could possibly be talking about, except that it has something to do with Rittenhouse.   _ Did she go up against Rittenhouse on her own? _

“Lucy, I don’t understand.”

“After you...sent me away, I went to San Diego, 1980.  My initial plan had failed and this was my backup. I was trying to...to stop them from recruiting someone.  Someone important to the future. They got there first. I was too late. I couldn’t even get near them at the hospital, there were guards posted at the room, I’m sure she was already inside talking to her parents, probably never even knew I was there. As soon as they saw me they went after me.  One caught me and I was able to fight him off-” She gestures to her battered face. “-but after that I just had to run. I barely made it back to the Lifeboat in time.”

_ Hospital? _

“I had nowhere to go,” she whispers, her voice small.  “I know you said not to come back or you’d shoot me. I know you don’t know or trust me...this me.  Not like you will. But any time I’ve felt lost, I’ve always gone to you. I guess I figured I’d take my chances. I know it’s stupid, it makes no logical sense.  But I didn’t know what else to do.”

She's been an enigma this whole time, but for the first time, Flynn feels like he's seeing the real her, the flawed her. That she is human, same as him, perhaps moreso than him. At least she still feels something. All he has left is his rage, burning inside and silencing the ghosts in his head, and if he stops he worries he might actually fall apart, faced with the emptiness he's frantically trying to fill with revenge.

He slips an arm over her shoulder, drawing her close beside him. Her knees rest against his thigh, arms still wrapped around herself as if she's literally struggling to hold herself together.

"I've lost so much," she says quietly, her voice hollow. "Amy, my mother, my father, you-"

The word has hardly left her lips before her eyes widen, and Flynn knows then that she's just let slip something she never intended to say. He looks down at her, frowning, though his arms stay wrapped around her, hand still tracing absentminded circles on her arm to soothe her.

"Me?"

Lucy wipes her eyes on the back of her good hand, smiling bitterly. "There's really no point in me hiding it anymore, there's nothing I can do to change it." She looks down at the floor, curling in on herself even further as she says, "You were killed."

Flynn's blood runs cold and he goes still, staring at nothing, processing what she's just said. He had, of course, always considered that his cause could quite possibly end with his own death, though he'd hoped it would be on his own terms, dragging Rittenhouse down with him in a blaze of glory. But the way she's said it, the look on her face as she said it - he doubts very much that anything of the sort took place. Of equal confusion and curiosity to him is how distraught she seems telling him this, and perhaps more tellingly than she intended, how she's seemingly listed him alongside loved ones she'd lost. This woman, whom he recently tried to have killed in Chicago 1930, yet who set him on this path to begin with. No, it wasn't the same woman. This Lucy was harder, and yet more fragile, like she's clinging to the edge of the world with her fingers and trying desperately not to fall, like she's made of brittle stone just waiting to shatter. She was here, curled in his arms, yet a million miles away. He can feel her warmth against his side, and yet he can't truly touch her.

"So I fail." She looks at Flynn questioningly. "My family. I don't get them back."

Lucy's face softens. "Not yet. Not by the time you...." She trails off, pauses. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't ever going to happen."

Flynn sighs, shakes his head bitterly. "Then what is the point of any of this? All these people dead, and I'm still not any closer than I was when I started to getting them back." He's had to push down so many parts of himself to keep moving forward,  the things that made him human - his gentle nurturing, his wry humor, the things that had drawn Lorena to him in the first place. That man was buried sometime three years ago, when he'd punched his way through two Rittenhouse agents sent to take him out and found his girls curled on the floor in a puddle of their own blood, Lorena still holding Iris as if shielding her with her body. He'd touched them briefly, pulling his hand away as if burned when met with how cold Lorena's skin had become. He had pulled Iris into his arms, hand stroking her cheek and his tears running into her hair, and rocked her gently for no more than a minute before he heard the sound of more jackbooted thugs heading their way. He'd lain his baby girl back with her mother at the last possible moment and run, climbing out through her bedroom window and pausing only long enough to retrieve a gun. He felt like he'd been running ever since.

"What are we? In your present, you and I?" he says out of nowhere, an abrupt subject change that takes Lucy by surprise. She twists the ring on her thumb absently, her newest nervous habit, and shrugs.

"I don't know."

"Cryptic as always." He's not sure if he feels endearment or frustration for this quirk that he's sure she has a good reason for and yet which drives him insane. She's maddening, so many different things at once, the meek mild teacher of the past contrasted with this new, harder version of Lucy. But he supposes that losing everything will do that to a person. Hell, he's the poster child for it.

"Whatever we were, it was enough for me to steal a time machine alone to try and stop it happening."

He knows the feeling.

One of his hands has dropped to his lap, and Lucy touches his palm, tracing the lines there but without actually seeming to know she's doing it. Flynn doesn't stop her, relishes the feeling of physical contact, not having realized how long it had been since he'd allowed another person to get close enough to touch him. But there's something more there, something beyond the base human need for contact, something that ties his stomach in knots.

They sit there long enough that Flynn's cheek dips down against her head, eyes closed as he softly trails his fingers up and down her arm. He snaps awake with a start as she nudges his side. "Flynn, I have it. I know what to do."

She takes the next several minutes to explain her theory, and robbed of context Flynn can only listen and try to sort out the chain of events she's talking about in his head.

"And let me guess. You want me to be the one to grab her?"

"I can't very well do it. An identical ship, another version of myself traveling solo to my own timeline inexplicably. By the time I explain enough for them to trust me, Rittenhouse will have caught us all."

"Fair." Flynn mulls her plan over in his mind. "This is, however, assuming you're correct in the cause of her new abilities, without any real proof that it is."

"Unfortunately, I'm out of options at this point. And now that you know where we end up, I don't need to do this all myself."

The whole thing is surreal to Flynn.  Four weeks ago he'd been threatening to kill her if he saw her again, and mere days ago he'd sat with her in the catacombs of a French chateau, using his faith in her unyielding belief in the goodness of others to his own advantage. And here she is now, taking control, falling into her leadership role with ease, as if it's second nature. He has a strange thought then - that he would follow her right through the gates of hell if she asked it of him.

"We had best get to work, then," Flynn says, letting go of Lucy and getting to his feet. He holds out a hand to help her up and then moves toward the Lifeboat exit. Lucy follows after him hesitantly, mumbling that she'll walk back with him. He doesn't fight this, instead helps her down to the ground behind him with his hands on her hips. They make their way back through the trees, heading for the distant light of the warehouse. She stops him just before they reach the clearing with a hand to his arm. "There's one more thing that needs dealing with. Your partner."

"What do you suggest?" 

"If you don't shoot her, I will."

This is definitely a new side to Lucy he's never seen before, a dark rage burning behind her eyes.  Flynn nods. "I need a pilot for now. We'll see what happens when everything is over and done with."

A noise in the distance draws his attention, something that sounds much like a door slamming. He swears loudly, having naively assumed his partner would be fast asleep this late at night, not listening in on his clandestine conversations. He breaks out in a run toward the warehouse, checking the door quickly only to find it locked, and dashes to the nearest window instead, smashing it with his elbow and using the barrel of his gun to clear any remaining jagged shards. Lucy is close behind him, stumbling as she pulls herself through the window. In the center of the warehouse the Mothership is kicking up dust as it slowly powers up, and Flynn is already racing toward it, firing his gun and missing widely as he sprints as hard as he can. Emma is smirking, crouched near the ship entrance, but her eyes aren't on Flynn, instead locked on Lucy. Pure hatred is the last thing Lucy sees on her face before the door closes, and the ship jumps, throwing Flynn back with the force of the gravitational shockwave and knocking him off his feet. Lucy crouches beside him, checking to see if he's okay, but he doesn't seem to realize she's there at all.

".... Rittenhouse has the Mothership."


	6. Chapter 6

“What now?”

Now back at Lucy’s ship, Flynn is seated in one of the spare passenger chairs, staring down at his clasped hands.  Lucy hands him one of her bottled water instant coffee concoctions and he stares at it, looking somewhat perturbed.

“Am I meant to drink this?”

“It’s entirely up to you,” she responds, rolling her eyes and taking a swig from her own.  She’s actually starting to get used to the taste at this point. Flynn watches her, then tentatively sips from his own, grimacing as he forces himself to swallow.  He quickly drains the bottle, eyes screwed shut as if he’s trying to avoid tasting anything.

“Well, that’s quite possibly the worst coffee I’ve ever had.  Even the shit they served in the army was at least  _ warm _ .”

“I’ve had to make do,” Lucy says, shrugging.  She finishes her own, then retrieves her journal, much thinner without the first half of its pages.  The sight of it seems to jog Flynn’s memory, and he reaches for the inside pocket of his jacket to retrieve a rolled up stack of sheets.

“May as well keep it all together.”  He hands them to Lucy, who looks at him curiously. 

“You’ve had them on you?  This whole time?”

“In case I ever needed a reference.  Or something to read between trips.” He’s looking at his hands, avoiding her gaze.  “They felt a bit like letters from the future.”

Lucy smiles, touched.  She knew the journal was his guidebook from the outset, knew from his own words that he came to feel like he knew her as he read it, but she had underestimated how important it really was to him.  It was his lifeline, his proof that there was hope and an eventual endpoint.

She tucks the pages into the front of the journal and returns her attention to the latter half.  Thankfully her future self had made notes of dates and times on each entry she wrote. “The reason we took off the moment we did wasn’t just Rittenhouse finding us - the Mothership jumped at roughly that same moment.  Originally that was meant to happen later tonight. Obviously, Emma took off early morning - we probably haven’t even returned from Chicago 1931 yet.” She has that look again, of talking more to herself than anyone else, and Flynn sits watching and listening as she mentally sorts through it out loud.

“Denise got Jiya out of Mason Industries later in the day.  If we can land somewhere in the vicinity of the warehouse this evening, maybe I can lure Jiya away before she goes inside.”

“And how do we get them to follow your ship?  If Emma jumped while they’re still gone, they won’t have gotten the notification, not without Mason’s computers.”

Lucy smiles.  “Wyatt’s cell number hasn’t changed, and you’ve always been great at getting under his skin.”

Flynn smirks.  “With pleasure. ”  They’re both well aware of his propensity to get under Wyatt’s skin, something that really only gets worse once Flynn is part of the team and around him daily.  “Though we don’t have a plan for once we reach 1954.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Lucy responds, flipping the journal shut and standing to hit the switch to close the door.  Once it’s shut, she takes her place in the pilot seat and rotates to face Flynn. “You ready?”

He finishes buckling himself in and nods.  He looks nervous as hell, which she can’t blame him for - there’s no room for missteps this time.  She reaches out to squeeze his knee reassuringly, then turns back to the console. “Here we go.”

* * *

The first thing Jiya notices is how weirdly quiet it is around the warehouse.  She’s gotten so used to constant hustle and bustle, of constantly being watched, that being alone with Agent Christopher out in the open makes her incredibly nervous.

The second thing she notices is her phone is now vibrating in her pocket.  She jumps, not expecting it, and stops to check the screen, which of course makes Agent Christopher stop as well.  “Go ahead,” Jiya says, waving for her to continue. “It’s Lucy.”

Agent Christopher nods.  “If you’re not inside within five minutes, I’m coming back for you.”

“Okay, mom.”  Despite the sarcastic response, Jiya shoots her a teasing smile.  Denise rolls her eyes and continues on her path alongside the warehouse, heading toward the side entrance, and Jiya turns away and taps her phone to pick up the call.

“Hey Lucy, where are you?”

_ “Hey Jiya.  We botched the landing a bit.  Rufus is asking for you, he’s too injured to move - could you come meet us?” _

Jiya’s heart skips a beat.  “Injured? What do you mean injured?  Is he okay?”

_ “He’ll be fine.  Can you meet us or…?” _

“Yeah, yeah, of course.  Where are you?”

_ “South end of the building.  I’ll meet you outside.” _

Jiya makes her way to the south end of the building with some hesitation in her step.  Something feels incredibly off, though she isn’t sure what. It was definitely Lucy on the line, that much she’s sure of.  But Rufus is an excellent pilot - how would he botch a landing that severely? She wonders if Lucy is trying not to worry her, if Rufus’s injury is worse than she’s letting on, and her steps quicken somewhat.  She rounds the corner, and-

Comes face to face with Garcia Flynn.  

Or, to be more exact, the barrel of Garcia Flynn’s gun.

She’s more confused than scared initially and only stares at him dumbly.  “What the-?” And then, almost instantly, she has her wits back and opens her mouth to yell for help.

“Scream and I pull the trigger,” Flynn growls, and her mouth snaps shut.  “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Jiya follows orders, her mind racing as Flynn binds her wrists tightly together.  Why was it Lucy on the line? Where is the Mothership? How did Flynn even get this close without setting off alarms?  Jiya’s anxiety goes up as Flynn places a blindfold over her eyes as well. “Well that just seems entirely unnecessary.”

“Quiet.”

He grips the rope binding her wrists and gives her a sharp nudge to move, pushing the gun into her back for emphasis.  Jiya walks slowly, disoriented now that she can’t see where she’s going despite Flynn steering her by her bound hands. After a few minutes of walking and repeated turns, they come to a stop, and she can hear him holster his gun shortly before she’s unceremoniously hoisted onto his shoulder in a makeshift fireman’s carry.  “Hey!” she protests - the position being incredibly uncomfortable with her hands behind her back - but before she has a chance to fight her way out of his grip, she’s deposited on the hard metal floor of what she’s guessing is the Mothership. Her breath quickens, her fear rising by the minute, and she quickly sits up and scoots herself back until she feels the wall behind her.

“What?  I didn’t have a lot of options.”  Flynn doesn’t seem to be talking to her, and she realizes he must be addressing one of his own men.  She takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself down, straining to hear the other person, who seemingly remains silent.

Jiya jumps in surprise as she feels Flynn grab her again.  Quickly swapping her restraints so her hands are in front instead, he guides her into one of the seats, shoves her into it less than gently, and buckles her in.  This, at least, is moderately more comfortable than the metal floor, though not by much.

“The Mothership has less padding than I remember,” she says to no one in particular, and as expected gets no response.

“I’m going to make the call,” Flynn says, again not to her, and she hears the sound of him hopping to the ground, leaving her and whoever-it-is alone in the cockpit.  She wonders for a moment if it’s Emma, but based on what Rufus has told her about the former Mason Industries pilot, she likely wouldn’t be capable of more than a few seconds of silence, let alone minutes.

“What did you do with Lucy?” she asks the silent passenger.

Nothing.

“Is she okay?  Is Rufus?”

Still nothing.

“Fine, don’t say anything.  But you should know your boss can’t be trusted.  He’s psychotic.”

That gets a reaction, or, more specifically, a laugh, so quiet she can barely hear it, and it’s quickly muffled, though she hears enough of it to determine it must be a woman.  Not one of his men then, unless he’d suddenly gone on an equal-opportunity recruitment drive.

She hears Flynn re-enter the capsule (she’s assuming it’s him, anyway, based on how loud he is about it) and he takes a seat across from her, his knees touching hers.  She shifts her legs to the side to avoid touching Flynn but finds there’s no position in which she doesn’t have physical contact with him at least a little. “Jesus, you’re a freakin’ giant.”

Flynn snorts but otherwise doesn’t address her. “As expected, he wasn’t particularly happy to hear from me,” he says to whoever it is piloting.  “Let’s go.”

The door closes quickly and the ship starts to hum to life, and again Jiya has to work to keep her breathing calm.  She’s never done a jump, was always hoping Rufus would be there with her for her first one; she trusts his piloting skills, knows she’s in safe hands.  She has a brief, horrified thought, that if this pilot makes even one mistake, she could end up god knows where or in god knows what state when she gets to wherever it is they’re heading.

“Where are we going?” She’s annoyed at how much her voice is wavering.  “What are you going to do with me?”

A pause.  Then, “Stay quiet and you’ll be fine.”  It’s interesting - Flynn is a lot more soft-spoken and calm than she expected him to be.  His voice is terrifyingly deep, true, but he doesn’t sound like the crazy loose cannon that Wyatt and Rufus describe him as.  If anything, he’s almost...reassuring? 

“Take a deep breath.”

She complies, the sound of the ship now almost deafening, and has a deeply uncomfortable sensation as if she’s abruptly being yanked back by a chain at her waist.  It lasts only seconds before the velocity cuts abruptly, which feels a bit like slamming into a brick wall at top speed. 

“...I’m gonna be sick.”

* * *

Jiya is clearly reeling, her face looking somewhat green, and Lucy waves at Flynn frantically, gesturing for him to get her out of the Lifeboat before she has a chance to vomit.  Flynn quickly pulls his restraints off and then Jiya’s, this time holding her in both arms in front of him as he slides down the front of the Lifeboat to the ground. He deposits her in the dirt just in time for her to be sick, looking back up at Lucy with a grimace, who is now leaning out of the Lifeboat to check on her friend.

Flynn waits for Jiya to finish, then picks her up once again and hoists her high enough that Lucy can grab her under her arms and finish pulling her back inside the ship.  He then checks the clip in his pistol, frowning. Down to only 12 bullets in the clip with no spares, courtesy of Emma running off with almost every weapon he’d amassed. Not a huge problem, as between Rittenhouse and McCarthy’s “Un-American Activities Committee” he’ll probably stumble across someone he can borrow a gun from before long.

“Well then.  I have a meeting to get to.”  He nods at Lucy, who smiles and nods in return.  This silent-response thing is starting to grate on him a bit, though he understands the necessity considering their passenger.  “You got her under control?” Another nod. “Okay. See you soon.”

From the looks of their surroundings, Lucy’s trusty autopilot could not have managed to land them any further from the downtown core of Washington DC, as they’re in a clearing surrounded by thick forest.  Flynn makes his way through the trees, eventually finding a walking path and a sign to help him pin down his location - Rock Creek National Park. Not as far from Capitol Hill as he thought, then.

A short walk later he stumbles across a parking lot, sparse except for a few cars, one of which has a driver leaning against the hood finishing a cigarette.  Flynn looks down at his own clothes that are clearly from 2018 and frowns. The man with the cigarette looks a bit shorter than him, but there’s a certain lack of options at the moment, and the era-appropriate two-piece suit is vastly preferable to Flynn’s current jacket, plain t-shirt, and jeans combo.

Flynn crouches, gun in hand, and makes his way to the opposite side of the car, making sure to stay out of the man’s line of sight.  He flicks a piece of gravel back the way he came, catching the man’s attention, and Flynn waits as he crosses around the hood of the car, heading in the direction of the noise.  So focused on finding the source of the noise, the man is taken completely unaware as Flynn comes up behind him, slamming his gun harshly into the back of the man’s head. He drops instantly, and Flynn catches him before he can reach the ground - not out of any compassion for his victim, but rather to keep the clothes from getting dirty.

Now appropriately dressed (albeit with slightly short cuffs on his pants and shirt - the story of his life, really, but at least the hat fits fine), Flynn gets into the car, quickly hotwires it with relative ease, and checks the glove compartment for a paper map, a staple in every car of this era in the absence of GPS.  Going off of Lucy’s scribbled down address, he’s able to find the location of the Rittenhouse summit after a few minutes of scanning street names - roughly an hour and a half of driving. More if he stops to track down another weapon. Knowing that Wyatt may be at the other end of this drive, it likely isn’t a terrible idea to track down more than 12 bullets.  Ideally, he won’t need to use any of them, but he’s found that things rarely go according to plan these days.

* * *

It’s nightfall by the time Lucy and Wyatt make their way toward the Rittenhouse summit with Ethan Cahill seated nervously in the passenger seat.  There’s been no sign of Flynn anywhere thus far, and they’re starting to question whether he’ll show or not, but they’re out of ideas and it’s as good a place to start as any.

“Where do you think he’ll be?” Lucy murmurs over her shoulder, eyes trained on the house.  Wyatt leans forward from the back seat. 

“If he’s taking out the place, probably the basement.”  He turns to Ethan. “Can you distract the guards at the back door long enough for us to get inside?”

Ethan swallows and nods.

They park a short distance away so Lucy and Wyatt can get out of the car.  Ethan takes the driver's seat and heads off for the house alone. Once the headlights have disappeared into the distance they start their walk through the dark, Lucy cursing her choice of footwear.  Granted, they’re not the  _ worst _ heels she’s ever had to wear, but they clearly weren’t intended for gravel roads and she knows she definitely isn’t running anywhere in them.

True to his word, Ethan has drawn the guards away from their post at the back door.  Now that they’re inside, Lucy opts to remove the heels and carry them instead, staying behind Wyatt as they make their way to the basement stairs and thankfully not running into anyone along the way.  

The basement is dusty, line of sight obscured by various brick pillars supporting the house’s foundation, the dim overhead lights not helping either.

It is also, they discover, completely empty.

Wyatt checks the room slowly, gun held in front of him, while Lucy hangs back and waits.  He reaches the end of the room without incident and lowers his gun. “Nothing.” Wyatt looks back at Lucy in confusion, not sure where else Flynn may have gone (or, indeed, if Flynn had ever been there at all).  Wyatt turns away, looking to see if there is another entrance to the basement at his end of the room, and it’s in that moment that Lucy abruptly feels the cold touch of a gun barrel pressed against her neck. 

“Say anything and I fire,” she hears whispered over her shoulder.

Lucy stays silent as instructed, even more confused.  Rather than being Flynn’s unmistakable deep voice, it’s a woman.  She turns her head ever so slightly to glance at who is behind her and is surprised to see Emma Whitmore glaring back at her.

Emma shoves her slightly in Wyatt’s direction, keeping the gun to the nape of her neck, and it’s at this moment that Wyatt finally heads back toward Lucy.  “I can’t find any other entrances-” He abruptly stops talking as he sees Emma and is quick to raise his gun. “Get away from her.”

“You two are poking around where you shouldn’t be.  Go ahead and lower that gun, before I put a bullet through your girlfriend’s head.”

Wyatt grits his teeth and hesitates before finally complying, lowering his gun to the ground carefully and standing with hands held in surrender.  “Where’s Flynn?”

Emma huffs.  “Hell if I know.  2017, if I had to make a guess.”

Neither is sure what to make of this.  “Aren’t you his pilot?” Lucy asks, taking a gamble that Emma won’t shoot her for talking now that Wyatt is disarmed.

“Sure.  Right up until the prick decided I was expendable like Anthony.  Not that it matters - this was always going to be our last trip together.  I just said goodbye a bit sooner than originally planned.”

“Why?”

Emma rolls her eyes.  “For having a PhD, you don’t catch on particularly quick.”  Though Lucy hasn’t yet caught on, Wyatt has. His face falls as he realizes what’s happening.  

“She’s with Rittenhouse,” he says through gritted teeth.

“So you’re not just a pretty face with a gun.”  She’s smirking, as she always does, making Wyatt clench his fists tightly.  He’d like nothing more than to punch the smile off her face right now.

“Did Flynn know?” Lucy asks her quietly.

“Not initially.  But I’m sure he does now.  Enough talking.” Emma shoves Lucy into place next to Wyatt, taking a few steps back from them with her gun still trained specifically on Lucy.  Wyatt notices at that moment that she has a silencer on the pistol, and realizes she likely has no intention of turning them over to Rittenhouse at all.  Alive, anyway.

“You can’t kill us, Emma,” Wyatt says, buying time as he scans the room for another route to the exit. “Lucy’s one of the Cahills.  Take her out and-”

“-no one would care,” Emma finishes for him.  “She hasn’t even been born yet. As far as Rittenhouse cares, you’re both intruders, and that means you’re entirely expendable.  Hell, they might even promote me for it.”

“Ethan Cahill knows we’re down here.”  Lucy’s voice is shaking ever so slightly.  “He’ll know what happened.”

“By the time he finds out, princess, I’ll be long gone.”  Emma grins. “And you’ll be dead in a basement, a Jane Doe buried in an unmarked grave, with no one to mourn-”

She doesn’t get to finish, as at that moment a hand seizes her by the shoulder.  Surprised, the smile fades from her face quickly as she starts to turn toward her attacker - at the precise moment he drives a knife deep into her side.

“Hello Emma,” Flynn says, low and dangerous, giving the knife another shove for good measure before letting her go.  She drops her gun and stumbles back, hand to her side with her mouth open in shock, and turns to look at Lucy briefly with complete and utter loathing before scrambling toward the stairs.  Flynn watches her go, not moving to follow. “She won’t make it far with that wound.”

There’s silence in the room in the aftermath of this until Wyatt finally gathers his wits and dashes forward to snatch Emma’s discarded gun from the floor, training it on Flynn.  “What the  _ hell _ is going on?”

Flynn holds his hands up to show he’s unarmed, not going for the gun that Wyatt can see clearly tucked into his waistband.  “We need to talk.”

* * *

“Are you seriously going to make me sit here talking to myself for the next god-knows-how-long?”  Lucy continues reading her journal, doing her best to ignore Jiya’s voice behind her. “Okay, fine, I guess I’m talking to myself then.”

They hear footsteps approaching and Lucy hushes her, quickly getting out of her seat to crouch near the open door.  It’s still dark, but she can see the outline of Flynn approaching, two people with him, A wave of deja-vu passes over Lucy, likely signaling that one of the people with him is her past self.  He gestures for them to wait at a distance and continues on alone. Once he reaches the foot of the Lifeboat he calls in a hushed whisper, “Hand me Jiya.” Lucy quickly complies, unstrapping Jiya and guiding her to the exit with her head still reeling.  Flynn eases Jiya to the ground and ushers her in the direction he came, holding his other hand up without looking over his shoulder, which Lucy takes as a sign to wait there.

A few minutes later he returns alone, climbs inside the Lifeboat and shuts the door behind him.  He sags into one of the passenger seats and sighs, eyes closed. There are blood flecks on his suit jacket, though he appears to be unharmed himself, and just as she wonders who it belongs to, her memory shifts, her conversation with Flynn in the basement now replaced with the more vivid sight of Emma getting a knife to the gut.

“How did it go?” Lucy asks, though she’s already well aware.  Flynn cracks open one eye to look at her.

“Fine.”

“And Jiya?”

“Show of good faith.  I laid out the plan and they agreed to it, but refused to go along with it unless I returned her first.”

“And they didn’t question how you’re getting home without your pilot?”

Flynn shrugs.  “Didn’t seem to occur to them.”

Lucy smiles, relieved, sinking back into her chair as the tension leaves her body for the first time in...days?  Weeks? She’s lost all sense of time at this point, and inhabiting the same general location and time as her past self is starting to take a toll on her, a migraine blooming as the new memories emerge of the walk back with Jiya and Wyatt.  

“Well then.  Let's get you home.”

* * *

It’s the middle of the night when the Lifeboat reappears in Flynn’s timeline.  Being that his previous safehouse is now likely compromised, Lucy opts to land on a secluded stretch of beach along the south coast of San Francisco.  It’s another rare clear night sky and, as Flynn helps Lucy out of the Lifeboat, they both glance up at it. It’s the first bit of calm and quiet Lucy has had in ages, and it feels utterly foreign to her, but at least the new memories stopped flowing in around the same time they left 1954 (and the migraine thus going away as well).

“It’s over then?”  Flynn looks down at Lucy as she stares up at the sky, a certain sadness in his eyes as he watches her. “Time for you to head home, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”  The ocean breeze catches her hair and she quickly tucks it back behind her ear, turning to Flynn but not meeting his eyes.  “Time to find out if the plan worked.”

“And what’s next for me, then?”  Almost immediately he shakes his head.  “Actually, no, it’s probably best if I don’t know.”

Lucy is glad to be off the hook, as she wasn’t looking forward to admitting she lied and that he would be heading to prison within a matter of hours.  She’s contemplated whether or not to tell him nearly the whole time she’s been traveling through the past, but ultimately decided that events were better going as planned.  Her return to her present timeline will already be disorienting enough, after spending this long inhabiting her own past. And six months in maximum security wouldn’t hurt him….well, okay, it would hurt him, in the form of a shiv, but Flynn can more than take care of himself.

They’re both silent then, unsure what to say at this point.  Eventually Lucy perks up as she remembers something and, telling him to wait there, she climbs back into the Lifeboat, re-emerging shortly after with items in hand - a worn leather jacket several sizes too big, and a battered blue leather journal.  Dropping back down to the sand, she offers the jacket to Flynn first. “You gave me this a while back.”

Flynn looks at it, smiling to himself - he remembers that night clearly, though for him it was months previous, and he wonders just how long it’s been for her.  After a moment he shakes his head. “Keep it. It’s cold out here.”

She seems ready to protest, but thinks better of it and folds it over her arm carefully instead.  Then she holds out the journal. “Give this to me,” she tells him, her face now serious. Flynn cocks his head to the side, intrigued, and takes the worn book from her hand.

“What do I tell her if she asks where I got it?”

“You told me the truth the first time around.  No reason you can’t do the same now.”

He nods and slips the small book into the pocket of the 1950s blazer that he’s still wearing, and they both look out over the water again.  She knows it’s time to leave, and yet standing there on the beach, with the stars overhead and the waves quietly swishing against the sand only a few feet away, it feels as if time is standing still, and neither quite wants to leave the safety of the moment.  Flynn glances at Lucy again out of the corner of his eye, taking in the soft lines of her face, the curve of her lips as she smiles and the way her eyes shine with the moon hitting them.  _ She’s beautiful. _  Everything that had taken place between he and Lucy and how it made him feel was a big question mark in his mind, and yet this he’s certain of.  Despite knowing she’ll continue to be in his life in some capacity, he knows he’ll miss her - this version, bent but not broken, determined and hopeful and unafraid.   _ His _ Lucy.

Flynn clears his throat, shaking off the building melancholy.  “You should go.”

“Yeah, I suppose I should.” 

Lucy smiles at him once more, then turns to leave, but before she can get very far Flynn reaches out and grabs her arm, pulls her against him and wraps his arms around her before she can react.  Surprised, she returns the hug in kind, both holding tight for a moment before Flynn releases her and turns away. “Go.” She nods, crawling into the ship one more time. She pauses at the door, looking back at him, and still, he doesn’t turn.  

“I’ll see you soon, Garcia.”

By the time he turns around to face her, the door has finished closing, and he takes a few steps back to give the Lifeboat space to jump.  It kicks up sand as the gravitational forces increase, forcing Flynn to close his eyes, and by the time he reopens them she’s gone. He stares for a moment at the spot where she disappeared, then sighs and starts the long walk back toward civilization, journal gripped tightly in his pocket.


	7. Chapter 7

Halfway through the jump sequence, the Lifeboat gives Lucy an error alert.  She panics, eyes scanning all the monitors to track down a readout of what’s going on; in all their trips taken to-date, she can’t recall Rufus ever receiving a piloting error, even when he had to pilot half conscious with a bullet in his abdomen.  Finally, she spots a small flashing alert on a monitor off to the side.

_ ANOMALY - TARGET TIMELINE UNAVAILABLE.  REROUTING TO NEAREST AVAILABLE SET POINT. _

Not being an actual pilot, there isn’t much she can do about it except to hope and pray she ends up where she needs to.  The Lifeboat is lurching more than usual and she grips the armrests, eyes closed, hoping she’s not about to end up severed in half or wiped from history or some other horrific fate.  The irony isn’t lost on her - that in attempting to save Flynn’s life, she could lose her own, and she wonders for a second if this is just time correcting course for itself again - and at that moment, the Lifeboat settles, the monitor indicating the jump sequence is complete.

She’s home.

Lucy unbuckles her restraints, hands shaking slightly.  The monitor is indicating it’s currently 2:33 AM, and the bunker is most likely just snapping awake to the sound of the Lifeboat landing.  She finds herself incredibly nervous, hand hovering over the button to open the door. She isn’t sure how she’ll react if she finds nothing has changed - isn’t sure if she can take the surge of grief all over again if it didn’t.

Taking a deep breath, she hits the button, holding Flynn’s jacket against herself tightly, her mouth set in a thin line.  

The first faces she sees are Connor and Jiya, both near the central console.  Both are still wearing their pajamas, and both look utterly relieved to see her.  Lucy smiles. She didn’t realize how homesick she felt until this moment, her head clear for the first time in ages as she finally isn’t sharing a timeline with her past self.  Wyatt appears then, quickly moving to push the stairs over to the Lifeboat - a luxury of sorts after having spent so long having to crawl in and out of it - and Rufus wanders in shortly after, yawning and looking rather put out that his sleep was interrupted.

She crawls out of the Lifeboat, eyes scanning the room, but there doesn’t seem to be any sign of anyone else joining them.  Lucy halts at the top of the stairs, waiting, hand gripping the railing tighter and tighter as the seconds stretch by. Nothing.

The ache in her chest is searing, burning, as painful as the night of his death, maybe even worse as she’d had hope to keep her going over the past few weeks.  She moves forward and takes the first step slowly, her head spinning.

_ I really have lost everything. _

“God, Lucy, we were so worried,” Wyatt says as she reaches the ground, and he hugs her tightly, but she can’t bring herself to return it and merely stands frozen in place.  “Where the hell were you?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but words fail her.  Rufus grabs her for his own hug as Wyatt steps away.  “We couldn’t even track you,” Rufus says, holding her at the shoulders as he steps back.  “It gave us errors every time we tried. It’s like you just disappeared from existence.”

Lucy can only shrug and utter a quiet, “Sorry.” It doesn’t feel like a good enough explanation of her recent behavior, but she is suddenly feeling so incredibly tired, far too tired to really get into it, and all she wants is a warm shower and her bed.  The pain in her chest is getting worse by the minute, and she looks down at the jacket still slung over her left arm, feeling tears burning in her eyes.

“Luce, are you okay?” Wyatt asks, glancing down at the jacket curiously. 

She nods.  “I just need some sleep.”  She’s still not meeting anyone’s eyes and feels a desperate urge to run, flee to the safety of her room or get back in the Lifeboat and jump far away from here.  The sting of failure is overwhelming her and she feels as if she may be sick. She walks forward slowly, easing past her concerned friends, eyes glued to the floor.  She’s never felt so hopeless, so lost. So alone.

Her pace quickens as she crosses the kitchen, wrapping her arms around herself, and she ignores Wyatt calling after her, ignores the hushed voices wondering what’s wrong with her.  She isn’t sure where she’s going, knows only that it needs to be somewhere far from the concerned looks they’re all giving her. She rounds the corner of the hall, deciding on the fly to head to the one room she knows will be empty - and stumbles back as she runs right into someone.  “Sorry,” she says by reflex as she finally glances up from the floor.

“Lucy?”

_ Oh my god. _

She lets out a noise that’s half laugh, half sob, hesitates only for a second before she gives in and throws her arms around Flynn.  His dark hair is still dripping from the shower he’s no doubt just finished, if the towel slung over his shoulder is any indication, and there it is again, the scent of his aftershave, no longer clinging to mementos of his existence as he’s here,  _ he’s really here _ , and she can’t even think straight for how relieved she is.

“It worked,” she whispers, resting her forehead against his damp neck, still laughing through tears, and though Flynn is deeply confused, he hugs her in return.

“Where have you been?” he asks, waiting patiently until she’s ready to let go.  

“I thought it didn’t work.”  Finally releasing him, she examines his face in silence, familiar and yet so different from the past few weeks.  There’s a softness there now, the haunted look in his hazel eyes gone. After spending so long being kept at arm's length by another version of him, the way he’s looking at her now, all warmth and affection, feels like coming home.

“The beach,” she says.  He glances down at the jacket still slung over one of her arms, and after a beat the recognition dawns on his face.  Flynn tucks a strand of her hair back, a gesture that feels so strangely intimate that Lucy feels her heartbeat quicken, which she staunchly ignores.

“Well then.  It’s definitely been a while.”  He smiles. “For me, anyway. You must be exhausted.”

Lucy sighs and nods.  “I suppose I’m still sleeping on the couch?”

“You were.  You can have my room tonight, get a good night’s sleep.  I wasn’t having much luck with it anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, putting a hand to her back to usher her toward his room.  “I’ll grab my book and get out of your hair.”

They walk down the hall in silence, Lucy sneaking a glance at Flynn out of the corner of her eye.  Everything still feels so surreal, like a dream she could snap out of any moment. Reaching his room, Flynn opens the door for Lucy, following her inside shortly after.  The bed is still a mess from when he gave up on sleep to have a shower instead, and he quickly remakes it, even taking care to fluff the pillow up for her, before stepping away to track down whatever book he’s currently reading among the stacks of them littering his room.

Lucy sits on the edge of the bed, the hard bunker-issue mattress never having felt as comfortable as it does at this moment.  Flynn finally locates his book and is about to leave her in peace when Lucy reaches out and grabs his wrist. “Wait.” 

Flynn looks back at her, eyebrow raised, but stops.  Lucy tugs gently, scooting over to allow space for Flynn to sit beside her.  He seats himself, book clasped in both hands on his lap, and looks at her expectantly.

“I need to know what all has changed,” she says.  “My mother?”

“Out there somewhere making our lives hell, to the best of my knowledge.”

She feels a strange mixture of relief that she’s alive, and dismay that her devotion to Rittenhouse has stayed exactly the same.  “And Jiya’s visions?”

“Nonexistent.  I asked her about it one day, to see if maybe she was just hiding it, and she looked at me like I was insane.”

Lucy laughs.  “Looks like we got it right, finally.”

“Seems that way.”  Flynn smiles, clearly enjoying how bright and happy Lucy seems to be since she returned.  “It’s been a while since I saw you in this good a mood. Over Wyatt finally?”

She thinks about this.  It’s true, thinking about Wyatt still stings, as expected - but much less than it did, more of a dull ache at a difficult memory than anything else. “I hadn’t thought about it,” she says truthfully.  “And I guess that was the key to getting past it.”

Lucy isn’t sure, but his expression shifts briefly to something unreadable before settling again on decidedly neutral.  “I’m glad. It was hard seeing you that way.”

“God, this feels so weird.”  She slides back on the bed further, so her back rests against the bunker wall and her legs are stretched out in front of her.  “I can’t tell anymore what actually happened in the last year of my life.”  She wonders if any of their late night conversations still took place, if he still knows the intimate details of her life. The thought that he might not fills her with a strange sadness.

Flynn also slides back on the bed to sit next to her, having to cross a considerably shorter distance, and his long legs hang off the edge of the mattress.  “All I know is the Lucy that left was broken and miserable - you were in here drinking practically every second night - and the one that’s come back is...” He nudges her with his elbow softly.  “...a welcome surprise.”

_ Well, I guess that answers that. _  “It must be weird for you as well.  All these different versions of me in your life.” 

“It was difficult at first,” he concedes, “having to shift my expectations for our….friendship.”  That doesn’t seem to be the word he intended if the pause is anything to go by. “I had to accept that you weren't truly the same people, even if you technically were.  But you changed over time. Not always positive, true, but as I watched you grow, it was like you were slowly becoming the woman I remembered.” He gestures briefly to her.  “The more you changed, the more familiar you were, as odd as that sounds.”

Lucy smiles, rests a hand on his bicep.  “No, it makes total sense.” She recalls how disoriented she felt, seeing him in that bar in São Paulo, not truly knowing how to interact with him.  Her grief at first over the man she’d had to say goodbye to gradually fading as she got to know this version all over again. “We have a lot in common that way.”

Flynn considers her, his eyes flicking briefly to her hand still resting on his arm before drifting back to her face.  Lucy’s own eyes glance briefly to his mouth as he licks his lips, a familiar quirk when he’s thinking about what he wants to say.  When she meets his eyes again, he has an eyebrow raised, and she quickly looks away and withdraws her hand, cheeks burning.

“You really need some sleep,” Flynn says gently, moving to stand once more.  Again Lucy reaches out, this time grasping his hand. Though he stops, he doesn’t look back at her, just waits.

She feels the words fighting to get out, held back by a hint of fear, but she forces herself to speak anyway.  Her voice is so quiet, even she struggles to hear it. “Please stay.”

Flynn looks her way again, clearly conflicted, though she sees something else in his dark eyes that are decidedly avoiding meeting her own, something else that sends a shiver through her. “Lucy, you’re dead on your feet, and as much as I enjoy our late night chats, the last thing you should be doing is drinking-”

“I don’t mean-”  She sighs, feeling a spark of frustration at him royally missing her point.

“What do you mean, then?”

She bites her lip.  His expression is unreadable, and she worries she’s making a huge mistake, but decides rejection is the least terrifying thing she’s had to deal with over the past several weeks.  “I just mean...stay. I can’t explain it, but I feel like if you walk out that door now, I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone.”

His face softens with understanding.  “I suppose I can read just as easily in the chair as I could on the couch if the lamp won’t keep you awake.”  He goes to move, but Lucy still hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Could you...um.”  Her face is absolutely burning at this point and she feels like a damn schoolgirl again, and it’s annoying the hell out of her.  “Do you find it hard to read laying down, or...?”

Flynn is silent, having realized what she’s actually asking, and Lucy lays down on her side, letting his hand go finally.  She rests her head on her own curled arm, eyes look anywhere except straight at Flynn, who has stood up regardless. Despite steeling herself to the rejection, Lucy is quite certain she’d vastly prefer if the earth opened and swallowed her up at this moment.  Terrifying, no. Humiliating? Just a bit.

But to her surprise, Flynn merely retrieves another pillow from the corner and sets it at the head of the bed, then sits again and swings his legs up onto the mattress.  He settles back against the pillow, keeping to the edge of the mattress to give her space, mostly lying down but elevated enough that he can still see his book that’s held in his right hand while the left rests on his stomach.  Lucy watches his eyes scanning the page quickly, smiling - speed reader, just like her. There’s so much about Flynn that the others don’t see, or perhaps they can’t see past their own first impression of him as the ‘psychotic sociopath terrorist’.  But she sees it, hidden behind his sarcasm that he uses to keep them all at a distance - his teasing sense of humor; his gentle nurturing in small gestures, whether they be handing her a beer she didn’t ask for or bringing her a morning coffee for a brutal hangover; his considerable intelligence and voracious appetite for any books he can get his hands on.  It scares her sometimes, how much she and him are alike, as they seem like the most unlikely pair of friends in the world.

_ Friends.  Quit kidding yourself, Lucy. _  The thought takes her by surprise, and she ignores it.  She feels safe here, in this moment, the usually dank bunker room insulating her from the pain of the outside world.  Or perhaps it’s just the present company.

They’re decidedly pushing the limits of how many people can fit on the standard twin size bed; Lucy decides to be brave once more, and lifts his left hand so she can slide closer to him.  She rests her head against his shoulder, her arm resting across his chest, and she feels his hand curl against her side automatically, as if it’s just force of habit. He doesn’t look up from his book throughout the whole process, and she reflects on how natural it all feels, how well she fits curled up against his side.

“What are you reading?” she murmurs through a yawn, her eyes closing.  She can hear his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls with each breath.

“Political History of San Francisco in the 19th Century,” he murmurs in reply, and despite the low volume of his response, she can still feel the rumble in his chest from the deep baritone of his voice.  “Very well written.”

There’s something teasing in his tone. She peeks one eye open, tilts the cover slightly with a finger only to see her own name printed on the front, and this makes her smile as she closes her eyes once more.  It’s not long before she starts to drift off, and right before she does, she could swear she feels Flynn resting his cheek against her hair.

* * *

_ Quiet.  Dark. Rufus ahead, behind the bar and polishing a glass.  Gunshots nearby, and he ducks away. _

_ Shifting now.  Streets of San Francisco, an alley, rats scurrying by and footsteps behind as he runs.  More shots. He looks back. Trips, stays on his feet. _

_ A cliffside now.  Dead end. _

_ The barrel of a gun - hammer pulled back by a red painted nail.  Click. _

_ “Gotcha.” _

_ He falls.  Water, cold and suffocating.   _

_ Nothing. _

_ “Lucy!” _

* * *

“Lucy!”  Her eyes snap open as she feels hands shaking her roughly, and she glances around the room, disoriented, before remembering where she is.  She sits up slightly, realizes she’s soaked with sweat and her heart is racing. Flynn is sitting up straight, his face panicked.

“What...what happened?” she asks, confused.

“You were sleeping, it seemed like a nightmare but then out of nowhere you went limp and started shaking.  I thought you were having a seizure.”

Lucy freezes, absolute dread passing over her.  “And my eyes?”

“What about them?”

“What did they do?”

He looks confused as to why she’d care about this small detail, but answers anyway.  “Rolled back in your head.”

A hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide.  No, no, no, this wasn’t supposed to happen, they’d made sure of it.  Hadn’t they? 

She gets up from the bed without explanation, rushes out of the room toward the kitchen, where the rest of the team is already awake and eating breakfast.  She beelines for them, calling out, “How many?”

Being the only morning person of the whole group and therefore the only one fully awake yet, Wyatt is the first to look up.  “How many what?”

“Who went back to 1954?  After Jiya was kidnapped?”

“Lucy, you were there-”

She slams her palms down on the table and they all jump, looking at her in shock.  “Just answer the damn question, Wyatt!”

“Four!” he immediately replies, his own voice raised defensively.  “You, me, Rufus, and Denise. Rittenhouse started shooting the instant they entered the warehouse, tagged her in the arm, we figured she wasn’t going to get any medical attention if they caught her so we risked bringing her with us.  You gave up your seat so we could keep her as still as possible while in transit.” His brow furrows. “You really don’t remember  _ any _ of this?”

Her eyes go wider, if it’s at all possible, and she slumps into an empty chair wordlessly, looking ill.

“Lucy, what’s going on...?” Rufus asks slowly, equal parts confused and concerned.  She looks at him, then at Wyatt, then the rest of the table, her mouth still hanging open, but she doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Premonitions.  Right, Lucy?” They all turn in their seats to see Flynn coming up behind her, arms crossed and frowning.  Lucy doesn’t look his way. “She’s having visions of the future.”

“Visions?  Jeez, here I was thinking time travel was the weirdest thing happening in this hellhole.”  Another voice, further behind Lucy. A woman’s voice.

Lucy quickly reaches out and snatches the gun she knows Wyatt always carries in the back of his waistband, and before he can move to stop her she’s stood, turned, and pointed the barrel directly at his wife, who looks startled and terrified.

“Hands in the air.”  Lucy clicks the safety off.  “And get on your goddamn knees.”


	8. Chapter 8

The room is frozen in silence as Jessica raises her hands slowly.  “Knees!” Lucy shouts, taking a step toward her, and Jessica jumps, a small noise of fear escaping, and quickly drops to the floor.

“Lucy, what the hell are you doing?” Wyatt says, quickly standing.  Everyone is giving her wary looks, and even Flynn looks cautious - which makes sense, as Lucy is just now realizing she’s never discussed Jessica with him

“She’s Rittenhouse,” Lucy snarls, moving closer to Jessica with the gun still pointed at her head.  

Wyatt grows warier with each step Lucy takes toward Jessica, and he starts toward her with slow caution.  “Listen, Lucy, I know everything between us has been...a huge mess, and whatever happened to you out there has clearly taken a toll-”

Lucy looks back at him over her shoulder, frustrated.  “This has nothing to do with us, Wyatt. Your wife has been playing us this whole time.  She’s working for them.”

“Them?”  Wyatt’s brow furrows.  “You mean Rittenhouse?”

“Lucy, do you realize how insane that sounds?” Jiya says, her voice shaking slightly.  

Lucy ignores her, still looking at Wyatt.  “How did she come back?”

He’s silent.  

“How did she come back, Wyatt?”

“I-...”  He glances at his wife, who looks his way with sheer terror in her eyes.  “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” Lucy insists angrily.  “They saved her brother. They went back and saved her brother and in return they got her.”

“How do you know about my brother?” Jessica asks quietly, shutting her eyes tight as Lucy presses the barrel of the gun against her forehead.

“Wyatt, you know things haven’t been adding up.  You know she’s been evasive since day one. Hasn’t the timing of her coming back been a little too convenient?”  He stays silent. “Do you trust me?”

There’s silence again as Wyatt looks between his wife and Lucy, his face twisted with doubt.

But before he can answer, and before anyone has a chance to react, Jessica reaches out and twists Lucy’s wrist sharply.  Lucy gasps in pain and releases her grip on the pistol, and Jessica takes it easily and stands, stepping back to aim it at the whole group.

“Jess?”  Wyatt’s voice is quiet and he raises both hands in surrender.  “What are you doing?”

“Your girlfriend is smart.”  Jessica is quite pointedly avoiding aiming the gun in Wyatt’s direction and seems to be avoiding meeting his eyes as well.  She turns to point the gun at Lucy’s chest. “I have no idea how you figured all of that out. I’m kind of impressed.” Lucy glares at Jessica in response.  “Unfortunately, it looks like you’re not as good with a gun as you are with researching.”

Flynn, off to the side and relatively ignored up to this point, suddenly makes a dash for Jessica, hands going for the gun.  She steps out of the way quickly and plants a kick against the back of his knee as he passes, and he stumbles as his leg gives out.  He falls against Lucy, who steadies him with considerable difficulty, and turns back to face Jessica, standing half in front of Lucy to shield her.

“Please, no one else try to be a hero,” Jessica says, backing away from them in the direction of the Lifeboat.  She turns the gun toward Rufus and gives him a beckoning nod. “You, with me.”

“No-!” Lucy starts to protest, taking a step toward them, but Flynn puts out a hand to hold her back.  She watches, helplessly, as Rufus crosses over to Jessica, and she grabs him roughly by the shirt, placing her gun against his back.

“Nobody follow or I fire,” she calls, walking toward the Lifeboat and pushing Rufus ahead of her.

“Jess, please!” Jiya calls out desperately, panicking.  “Please don’t do this. We’re friends!”

She stops and turns slightly, and something passes over Jessica’s face as Jiya says this, something that looks a bit like regret.

“What about the baby?” Wyatt asks, his voice quiet.  “Was that a lie too?”

The look of regret deepens.  “No. It’s not.”

Wyatt looks at her with pleading eyes.  “Then please, just stay. We can protect you, Rittenhouse can’t get at you here.”

Her face goes steely once more and she shoves Rufus forward, resuming their path toward the Lifeboat.  Reaching the stairs, Jessica nods for Rufus to climb them ahead of her, and keeping her gun pointed forward, calls back to Wyatt,  “I don’t need protection, Wyatt. They’re my family.”

Wyatt looks dazed, all of the fight going out of him at once.  Jessica and Rufus reach the inside of the Lifeboat, and she shoves him toward the pilot’s chair and slams a hand on the door close button before turning back to them.  Her eyes drift right to Wyatt, softening for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly as the door closes and the Lifeboat powers up.  Before they can make a move toward it, it blinks out of existence, and the resulting stunned silence is broken only when Jiya lets out a stricken sob.

* * *

The mood is somber in the wake of Jessica’s hijacking.  Jiya immediately turned on Wyatt, demanding that he tell her if he knew, and his answer, that he suspected something was off but didn’t know for sure, garnered him a slap to the face.  She rounded on Lucy next, wanting to know why she didn’t say anything, and when Lucy couldn’t give her an answer, she shook her head in disgust and left for her room in tears. She still has yet to emerge and thus far has only allowed Connor to come in to speak with her.  The rest sit in their makeshift living room as Wyatt finishes telling Agent Christopher what took place that morning before she arrived.

Denise, who has opted to stand and been busy pacing while listening, turns to Lucy.  “How did you know? And for how long?”

Lucy sighs.  “It’s incredibly hard to explain.”

“Try us.”

She glances at Flynn beside her, who is leaning back with his arms crossed and eyes lowered.

“The extremely condensed version is...I’m from an alternate timeline. I think.”  No one says anything; instead, she gets several blank looks (save from Flynn, who is still staring down at his own shoes with great interest).  “I was trying to return to my present and the Lifeboat gave me an error, jumped me to an earlier point where everything seems to be the same. But the events of my previous timeline still happened - to me - so I already knew about Jessica.”  She shrugs. “Or that’s what I’m guessing, as someone who understands none of the science behind all of this.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to us?” Wyatt asks, his voice low.  He, too, can’t seem to meet her eyes.

“I...would have.  I was exhausted, I couldn’t think straight, I didn’t even know what point in the timeline I’d returned to - for all I knew, Jessica wasn’t even alive anymore.”  She stops short of admitting that she simply forgot about Jessica until she finally saw her the next day, as she doesn’t imagine that will go over well with any of them.

Denise sighs.  “What were you even doing?  You still haven’t explained why you ran off with no word to anyone.”

Again Lucy looks to Flynn for something, though she’s not sure what she’s hoping for from him.  Moral support? Backup? Corroborate her story? Of course, no one else is aware he has any knowledge of her trips to the past at all.  The fact that he still won’t even look at her is starting to grate on her nerves.

“I was trying to save lives,” she murmurs, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “And I managed to do so, but there were some unintended side-effects.”

“Gee, you think?”  Wyatt sits back, fixing a glare on Lucy.  “We’re a team, Lucy, you can’t just make judgment calls in a vacuum.  Running off alone was stupid and reckless. What if you’d gotten hurt?  Or killed? The Lifeboat could have been lost somewhere in the past - or worse, captured - and we’d be screwed, and meanwhile Rittenhouse would be running around wreaking havoc with no one to stop them.”

“I had to do it.”

“Why?  And what made you think it was a good idea to leave us out of it?"

Lucy stands abruptly, fists clenched.  “You have _no_ right to judge me, Wyatt.  You suspected Jessica and did _nothing_ about it.”

Wyatt stands as well, face to face with her.  “I was waiting to be sure. If your sister came back suddenly, would you assume she was a traitor, or would you just be thankful she’s alive?”

“Of course I’d be happy she’s back-”

“In my shoes, you’d do the same thing, Lucy, don’t deny it.  At least I had good intentions. Meanwhile, you went on a selfish joyride and won’t even tell us why.  Ever since you got back you’ve seemed like a totally different person. Who knows, maybe _you_ caused this with whatever you were doing in the past.”

She can feel her blood boiling, opens her mouth to respond, then thinks better of it.  What would be the point of even trying to explain?

Without any further response, Lucy turns and strides out of the room, hears Wyatt huff behind her and ignores it.  Jiya still has their formerly-shared room blockaded, and she can’t very well go back to Flynn’s room when he’s seemingly staunchly avoiding her, so she opts for the bathroom, the only spot left where she can have space to herself.  She slams the door behind her, crosses to the sink and rests both hands against its edge. She’s breathing heavily, her heart still pounding, and she glances up at herself in the smudged mirror, sees her flushed cheeks and the frown that still hasn’t left her face.  She twists the tap for cold water and splashes her face, pressing her wet palms to her burning cheeks for a moment to cool down.

The gravity of the situation is hitting her, and she has no idea where to go from here.

Several minutes pass by before the door creaks open slowly.  Lucy looks over just as Flynn shuts the door behind him. She watches as he crosses the room slowly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, and leans against the wall next to the sinks.

“Ready to acknowledge me finally?” she says, and there’s a sharp bitterness to her tone, which only makes Flynn raise an eyebrow.

“There was no point in me getting involved as well and just muddling things further.”

“Except to back me up.”  She has no idea why she’s so angry with Flynn as well, especially as she knows he’s not wrong.  “You know exactly why I went back alone-”

“Do I?”  Flynn looks at her with a soft expression, his eyes searching hers.  “Do you, even?” The question takes Lucy off guard, halts her angry momentum.  When she offers no response, Flynn pushes off the wall into a standing position, takes a step closer to her.  “Why did you go back alone, Lucy?”

There isn’t a compelling answer to that question.  At least, not one that he would understand.

“Lucy?”

“I don’t know.”  She looks up at him, her jaw set.  Flynn is quiet, eyes scanning over her face, and Lucy shifts her feet uncomfortably before she turns away, facing the mirror once more.  “Why are you here, Flynn?”

Lucy can see in the mirror’s reflection that Flynn’s gaze has drifted to the floor, and she can swear that she sees him wince at her words. “I was making sure you’re okay.”

“Really,” she deadpans, then sighs.  “Flynn, what is this?”

This throws him off guard.  “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”  She’s tired, she’s angry, she’s ashamed, she’s confused, she’s hurting in more ways than one, and she has no patience left for any of it.  “I don’t know what happened for you between us standing on that beach and now, I only know what I left behind. The late night heart to heart conversations, taking care of me when you had no reason to, the looks across the room that you didn’t think I noticed.”  She turns back to him. “So what is this? And don’t you dare say I don’t know, because you do.”

Flynn swallows, looking perhaps the most uncomfortable she’s ever seen him.  A flash of panic goes through her that she may be getting this all wrong and he’s about to correct her erroneous assumptions, but thinking about it, she’s not sure she cares if he does.  She’s been through too much already, and her home hasn’t quite felt like home since she got back; she’s a stranger in her own life. The one thing she thought she could count on was for things between her and Flynn to be the same, but even this doesn’t seem to be the case, as she can’t seem to get any read on him anymore, where before all it took was a look for them to understand each other.

“I should go.” Flynn turns to leave but stops short as he hears Lucy laugh bitterly.

“Running away instead of answering.”  She shakes her head. “I didn’t take you for a coward.”

“Lucy-”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, as she instead shoves past him and strides to the door, whips it open and doesn’t bother to close it behind her.  Flynn watches her leave, slides both hands through his hair and groans in frustration, then sighs and exits, heading the opposite direction down the hall.

* * *

“Jiya?”

Lucy raps her knuckles against the metal door then waits for a response, hears quiet murmurs inside.  A second passes and then the door swings open, and she finds Connor on the other side. His eyes meet hers, his expression concerned, and he steps aside to let Lucy in, closing the door behind him to give them privacy.

Lucy steps forward slowly and seats herself on the edge of the bed.  Jiya doesn’t acknowledge her, instead curled up facing the opposite direction, and as Lucy goes to rest a comforting hand on her shoulder, she pulls away.  Lucy lets her hand drop back to the bed and looks down at the floor, sighing.

“Jiya, I’m sorry.”

Jiya sniffles and sits up, wiping her face with her sleeve, and fixes a glare on Lucy.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s hard to explain-”

“Oh, sorry, I wouldn’t want you to be inconvenienced with having to explain something _hard_.”  She sits up straighter, her anger rising.  “When you disappeared with no word, I defended you.  I convinced everyone that you must have had a really good reason for not telling us.  Now you’re back, things have gone to shit, Rittenhouse has kidnapped the man I love, and you won’t even tell us why this is all happening.  Honestly, Lucy, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

Lucy’s mouth hangs open as she struggles to find a response.  At that moment they hear a noise echo from the launchpad and both of their heads turn toward the door before looking back at each other.  They move to leave at the same time, Jiya’s speed picking up as she reaches the kitchen. Denise stands at the front of the group that is already gathered by the launch area, her gun in hand, and as Lucy rounds the center console she sees it- the Lifeboat is back.

The door opens and they collectively hold their breath, waiting for Rufus - or Jessica - to appear.  

Instead, after a moment’s pause, Lucy-2 steps out, a glare on her face as she looks them over, searching for someone in the crowd.  

Finally, she spots Lucy and, eyes burning, yells, “What the _hell_ did you do?”


	9. Chapter 9

Lucy stares in silent shock as her future self vaults down from the Lifeboat hatch to the floor and strides toward her.  Denise quickly lowers her gun, not fully sure what’s going on, and steps aside to let Lucy-2 pass. The rest of the group is staring, wide-eyed, and Lucy realizes this is yet another event from her original timeline that none of them would have been present for.  

“I don’t know, what did I do?”

“We need to talk.”  She grabs Lucy’s arm as she passes by, ushering her across the kitchen and down the hall.  It’s not until they reach the bunker entrance that Lucy finally manages to wrench her arm away from Lucy-2’s grasp.  Deciding it’s far enough out of earshot of the others, her future self rounds on her.

“I don’t know what you did while you were back there, but I went back to something so much worse than I left behind.”

“What-”

“Every trip we made to the past seemed to make things worse and worse in the present, even when we changed absolutely nothing, which is the point I realized _we_ had nothing to do with it.  I didn’t think it was even possible to get any worse than it was to begin with, so again - _what did you do_?”

She’s not sure how to respond.  “But I followed our plan.” A pause.  “Or tried to, anyway. I ran into a snag and had to improvise, but that shouldn’t have-”

Lucy-2’s eyes narrow.  “What do you mean ‘improvise’?”

“I wasn’t able to take out Emma initially, so plan B was to warn Jessica’s parents not to make the deal with Rittenhouse, but I didn’t anticipate Rittenhouse taking so much backup with them for that first conversation and I barely made it out of there alive.  Then I tried to go after Jiya’s visions, which seemed to work, but there was apparently another snag I didn’t calculate for, and now it turns out I’ve come back to convulsive nightmares that weren’t there before.”

Brow furrowed, Lucy-2 shakes her head.  “That’s not possible. Even if Jiya’s visions somehow swapped to you instead, it wouldn’t affect you when you returned, you’re from a totally different timeline.”

Lucy shrugs.  “I can’t explain it.  But it started as soon as I got home.”

“If that’s how this works, it should be affecting me as well, shouldn’t it?”  Lucy-2 looks away, arms crossed, thinking it through. Lucy stays silent, waiting until her future self finally turns back.  “What if this is because we’re crossing our own timelines?” She gets only a stare in response, and Lucy-2 nods for her to follow as she heads back to the team, who are now huddled in the kitchen and discussing something in low voices.  They look at Lucy-2 with suspicion as she approaches, Denise’s hand drifting cautiously to rest on her now-holstered gun, and Connor is about to ask the specifics of what’s going on, but doesn’t get a chance as Lucy-2 immediately asks, “Connor, what would happen if a person visited their own timeline repeatedly?”

“It’s not possible...well, that’s what we thought anyway, but clearly-”

“Pretend it is.  What would happen?”  

Connor ponders for a moment.  “Well, it depends on which timeline theory is correct.  As we move around and make changes to the past, things change for our present.  The most likely options are the dynamic timeline or multiverse theories. Multiverse would dictate that whenever we make changes, we return to a new present that didn’t exist before, and our original present continues to exist without us in it.  Dynamic, however, points towards one timeline, meaning any changes made to a timeline where two of you exist would result in those changes carrying over to the present - your present. And then you would need to account for the increase in entropy.”

“Meaning?”

“You know this is entirely theoretical?”

Lucy-2 nods impatiently.

“Well, aside from the proven risks of visiting your own timeline resulting in the complete breakdown of your body itself - hence pilots returning cut in half and other horrid things - we theorized that if a person could do it without dying, then the more you meddled and changed things, the more chaotic the present would get, increasing over time.”  There blank looks on all of their faces, with the exception of Jiya, and Connor sighs deeply in the longsuffering way that only a scientist explaining a complex concept to a group of laymen can. “Imagine a deck of cards, arranged with the suits in order. That’s how we started in our first timeline - timeline zero. Each small change that we made, or big changes that others made-”  He glances to Flynn, who gives him a _Who, me?_ look.  “-was like shuffling that deck of cards.  The first few trips maybe two or three cards were shuffled, so for the most part things were still orderly with one or two exceptions, but the more changes you make and trips you take back, the further that deck shuffles.  Eventually it’ll reach a breaking point where virtually nothing is in order. Traversing your own timeline would likely speed up the rate of entropy considerably - a bit like adding another deck of cards to that first deck each time you jump to an overlapping point or make a massive change.  Things muddle together, get jumbled up, and the more cards that get added, the more chaotic things get.”

Both Lucys are looking more and more stricken the longer Connor speaks, glancing at each other grimly

“We haven’t had to deal with it much to this point because most changes were being made in a distant past, for the most part, and things would seem to sort themselves out as time passed between then and now.  But the increase in entropy, depending on rate, would either result - again, theoretically - in a massive mess that you could only solve by removing that individual from the equation entirely, a bit like neutralizing a spreading virus and thus negating or minimizing their impact on timeline zero, or the timeline would ultimately start to course correct on it’s own before it has a chance to completely break down.  Or option C of course, a complete collapse of reality, but that was always seen as worst case scenario and is probably the most theoretical of them all.”

“And what would the course correction look like?  Hypothetically?”

“The mildest tends to seem like a fixed point - an event that must take place, regardless of those involved.  Like a specific tree falling, no matter who chops it down. A historical figure being assassinated, regardless of the setting or circumstances.”  

“Or a bullet,” Lucy finally says, her voice quiet as she glances in Flynn’s direction, “having to hit someone, no matter who it is.”  Flynn is looking increasingly disconcerted as the conversation stretches on, and he glances at her for only a brief second before returning his attention to Connor.

Connor raises an eyebrow.  “Yes...I suppose that could be the case.  But a catastrophic increase in entropy…I can only imagine what that would look like.  Thankfully, as I’m assuming this is the first trip back you’ve made - and I really need to pick your brain about _how_ , by the way - the effect on overall entropy should still be relatively mild.”

“Wait,” Jiya says finally, cutting into the conversation.  “If the future versions of us have a Lifeboat that can safely navigate our timelines, then why don’t we just jump back and grab Jessica before she takes Rufus and our Lifeboat?”

Lucy-2 sighs.  “We can’t go back and stop Jessica because - if Connor’s increasing entropy theory is correct - we have a limited number of jumps to our own timelines left that we can do before things go to hell.”  She casts a glance at her other self. “A very, _very_ limited number, thanks to some poor planning on our part.”

Connor holds up a hand.  “Now hang on, I did say it was only mild entropy increases initially-”

“This isn’t my first trip to my own timeline,” Lucy-2 says, cutting him off again.  “It’s just the first one most of you remember.”

Connor’s mouth closes abruptly.  There’s a pause as they all try to process what she said, somewhat disturbed that even a significant event like this would be seemingly forgotten.

Lucy looks at all of their faces and sighs.  “It’s also not her fault. It’s mine.”

“Lucy-” Flynn starts, but goes quiet as she shakes her head.

“That stretch of time that I was gone with the Lifeboat, I was in my own timeline.  Repeatedly.”

“How many jumps is ‘repeatedly’?” Jiya asks, wary.

Lucy shrugs.  “I don’t know.  Probably close to ten, if I had to guess.”

Both Connor and Jiya look horrified by the answer, and while the rest are hazy on the specifics, they can gather based on the science team’s expressions how bad this must be.

“Why?” Denise asks.  “I can guess based on this whole conversation that you weren’t aware of this ‘entropy’ issue, but you still haven’t told us why you went.”

Lucy is debating how best to explain it when Flynn clears his throat.  “She went because of me.

“You?” Wyatt repeats, giving Flynn a look dripping with skepticism.  Flynn returns the stare dead-on and shrugs, and Wyatt scoffs. “How would you even know that-”

“He’s right,” Lucy says softly, looking down at the floor.  “Jiya - the one in my original timeline - had a vision that Rufus would die, but Flynn took the bullet in the end.  And she-” Lucy nods toward her future self. “-told me that Flynn’s death threw the whole future out of whack, and to fix it, I’d need to make sure he lived.  Which I did.”

“Setting aside this whole ‘vision’ thing you keep bringing up,” Jiya says, crossing her arms, “I’m also sensing a ‘but’ here.”

Lucy nods.  “Things didn’t go exactly to plan.  What should have only been one or two jumps turned into a lot more as I tried to wing it.  Until my final plan worked, and that’s when I came back.” She looks at Jiya. “Remember when Flynn kidnapped you and went to 1954?”

“How could I forget?” Jiya says wryly, glancing at Flynn over her shoulder.

“Yeah, well.  I was the one who helped him.”  She laughs weakly. “Surprise.”

There’s stunned silence, before Denise asks, “How is that possible?  You were with us when we went back, I remember you helping to buckle me in after I was shot-”

“Denise, you never went back in my timeline. Ever.  Something I believed right up until this morning, when Wyatt told me otherwise.”

“So let me get this straight,” Wyatt says, and Lucy can already sense his building anger.  “This prick died-” A nod at Flynn. “-and you took her word-” Another nod, at Lucy-2. “-that saving him would fix everything, so you ran off alone without telling anyone, messed around in _all_ of our pasts, and probably caused everything currently going wrong?”

“Hey,” Flynn cuts in, uncrossing his arms and taking a step toward Wyatt.  “That isn’t fair. She didn’t know-”

“I’m not talking to you, Flynn, and I think you’ve caused enough issues already.”

“By _dying_?”  Flynn laughs in disbelief.  “I’m sorry to have disappointed you, Wyatt.”

Sensing an argument brewing (and fully aware arguments between the two men tended to end with punches thrown), Lucy steps between them.  “Enough. What’s done is done. We have more important things to worry about - Rufus, for one.” Both look thoroughly chastised and go silent.

“We don’t even know where he is.  The tracker is disabled.” Jiya’s eyes are downcast, her expression pained.  “Where do we even start?”

Something is itching at the back of Lucy’s mind and she can’t quite put her finger on what.  She listens to the group discuss ideas without actually listening to anything they’re saying, as she struggles to remember what it is she’s forgetting, until it finally hits her.

“I think I know where he is.”  All of them look her way, the discussion halting abruptly.  “San Francisco. And if I had to take a guess, I’d say he went to 1886.”

“How can you know that?” Denise asks.

Surprisingly, Wyatt is the first to catch on.  “Those ‘visions’ you mentioned - I’m guessing they were about Rufus.”

Lucy nods, giving Wyatt an approving smile.  “I saw where he was, anyway. The date is an educated guess based on...past experience.”

Jiya’s face falls.  “If that’s true, then we have no way of reaching him.  He’s trapped.”

Lucy-2 raises a hand.  “Not strictly true.” She steps back from the group in the direction of her Lifeboat, and jabs a thumb over her shoulder at it.  “You could use this.”

“But you need that to get back to your timeline,” Lucy says, shaking her head.  “And even if we got Rufus back, we’d still be short a Lifeboat.”

Lucy-2 smiles at her past self.  “Think about it. He’s in San Francisco, possibly 1886 if it’s exactly like Jiya’s original jump, and if that much is matching up, then it stands to reason that events will go the same.  He probably stashed the Lifeboat somewhere for us to find, just like before. So take my working Lifeboat back, find him and bring him back, and he can take you right to it and repair it, allowing me to go home in mine - everybody wins.”

The group glances at one another in turn before Connor shrugs.  “I don’t see any reason it couldn’t work. It’s definitely risky, and running on a lot of assumptions that only you two seem to know anything about. I don’t suppose anyone else has a better idea?”  Silence. “Well then. Let’s go save Rufus.”

* * *

Their plan decided, the team flies into action.  Initially a terse discussion takes place debating who should take the three spare seats in the Lifeboat (leaving the fourth open to return with Rufus), with Jiya arguing she should be allowed to go before conceding that Lucy’s knowledge of the past and details of her vision would be far more helpful overall, and the two soldiers would be necessary if they were potentially running straight into a Rittenhouse trap.  Lucy knows the Jiya of her timeline would have more than held her own, but of course, this isn’t the same Jiya (and in some ways, she’s relieved, as her friend had gone through hell, between the distressing visions and three years stranded in a past that was out to get her).

Flynn and Wyatt are busy loading up the Lifeboat with supplies, navigating around Jiya and Connor as they crouch near the pilot seat  to run diagnostics, while Lucy stands off to the side with Denise and her future self. “This deals with the Rufus situation,” Lucy says, under her breath so Wyatt won’t overhear, “but what do we do about the Jessica situation?  She knows where the bunker is now.”

Denise sighs.  “Precisely why I wanted anyone entering the bunker to be thoroughly vetted first.  Nothing we can do about that now, though. I’ll look into alternate safehouses while you’re all gone and have a few more guards posted outside.  That should at least buy us enough time to move locations once you jump back.” She turns to Lucy-2. “Since you’re killing time while we wait anyway - any chance you’d be willing to coordinate packing?  Just the essentials.”

Lucy-2 shrugs.  “Nothing better to do.  I can get a start on it, anyway.”

“We’re ready!” Wyatt calls from the Lifeboat stairs.  

Lucy waves to let him know she’s heard, and is about to head that way when Denise stops her with a hand on her arm.  She pulls the gun from her shoulder holster, flips it to hold by the barrel and holds it out to Lucy. “I want you to take this.  I know you don’t like using guns but-” Lucy takes it from her with no argument, to Denise’s surprise. “Changed your policy?”

“Better safe than sorry.  I’m done losing people.”

Denise raises an eyebrow.  “Fair enough. Just make sure you know how to use it.”

Lucy glances at the Lifeboat where Flynn and Wyatt stand expectantly waiting for her.  “I have excellent teachers.”

Lucy-2 looks over at them as well, a warm smile on her face.  “Yes, you do. And if anyone is gonna bring Rufus back, it’s this team.”

Lucy gives one final smile to both of them, then heads toward the Lifeboat.  On her way up the stairs she passes Connor and Jiya, who are heading the opposite direction, and Jiya pauses a moment next to Lucy, a deadly serious look on her face.

“Bring him back, Lucy.”  

It’s not a request so much as a command, and Lucy nods firmly.  “You have my word.”

Once inside the Lifeboat, Lucy takes the pilot seat, and Wyatt reaches out to fasten her seatbelt as usual.  She puts up a hand to halt him and fastens it herself, something she’d gotten quite good at out of necessity during her solo travels.

“Want me to hold that?”  Flynn nods at the gun she’d forgotten was in her hand, and Lucy quickly nods and hands it to him.  He slips it into the empty half of his shoulder holster, then fastens his own restraints. Lucy has to suppress an eye roll as both men shift in their seats in an attempt not to have their legs touch.

“Everyone ready?”

A curt nod from both, and Lucy spins the chair around, keys in the coordinates, and activates the autopilot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos thus far! Though I haven't responded to many (mainly cuz I'm awkward and don't know what to say), I do appreciate them!

While there was no question in Lucy’s mind that every mission they’d undertaken had been for important life-or-death reasons, situations that could change the course of history, and she had never taken that responsibility lightly- she’d still always had a soft spot for indulging in the vintage fashion of each time period.  And so, when Flynn and Wyatt return to the wooded clearing on the outskirts of San Francisco that they’ve landed in with a pile of velvet fabric bundled in Flynn’s arms, she rushes over to him almost instantly to see what sort of gown they managed to track down for her. The style is typical of the 1880s and quite similar in shape to the dress she recalls wearing her first time around, this time in a deep royal blue and accented by gold embroidery.  Wyatt and Flynn wait, backs politely turned, as she slips into the dress, which thankfully has a modest sized bustle and no hoop skirt or crinoline to impair her movement. As a finishing touch, she lifts the skirt and fastens on a leg holster over her jeans (courtesy of Wyatt, as she lacked a period-appropriate option for a jacket to cover a shoulder holster), then slides Denise’s pistol into it before settling the fabric down over it once more. Fully kitted out, she feels like a true femme fatale, and has to resist the urge to grin as she calls, “I’m ready.”

Both Wyatt and Flynn have their eyebrows raised as they turn and see her.  “We all know I don’t give a damn about clothes, but…. _ damn _ , Lucy,” Wyatt says, giving her an appreciative half-smile that she can’t help returning.  She glances over to Flynn to see his reaction, but he quickly looks away and her grin falters.  Every time she felt like things were getting back to normal between them, he seemed to pull away, and she still hasn’t figured out why.

They head down the hill toward the city proper.  A light mist is falling, not true rain, but the ground is slick all the same, and Flynn offers Lucy his arm to keep her from slipping in the mud in her impractical 1886 heeled boots, which she takes gratefully.  A few minutes later they’ve reached the city streets, busy despite the waning daylight, and Lucy halts them and beckons both men to the side of the road with her so they won’t be run down by a horse and cart while they talk.  “In the vision, Rufus was in a bar,” she murmurs, glancing around them to ensure no one is getting close enough to overhear. “Obviously we can’t check every bar in the city, but since everything else is following along events I’ve seen before, my guess is that this will be no different.  At the very least, it should probably be where we check first. Anyone opposed?”

Flynn shrugs, turning to Wyatt, who also shrugs as he says, “You’re our historian slash psychic.  Lead the way.”

Lucy resists the urge to correct Wyatt’s use of ‘psychic’ (mainly because she still doesn’t know what actually caused the visions), and they continue down the street, navigating in the direction of the Bison Horn Saloon.  The streets are just familiar enough that she can track down Chinatown without a map to guide her, and within an hour, just as the sun sets, they’ve reached the bar.

Lucy stops short at the front step, staring at the ground in front of her, halting so abruptly that both Wyatt and Flynn nearly run into her.  They wait a moment, and when Lucy doesn’t move, Wyatt puts a hand to the gun under his jacket and tells them he’ll scout the bar, then disappears through the front door, leaving Lucy and Flynn outside.

“Lucy…?” Flynn says quietly, concerned.  

At first, she can’t hear him.  She feels a surge of panic, her heart pounding as she feels her breathing building steadily toward hyperventilating, and she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the ground.  She recognizes it, of course - the same feeling she had trapped in her rapidly sinking car, the same feeling she had impersonating a Nazi alongside Ian Fleming, the same feeling she’s had in any number of tight spaces or seemingly impossible situations...and the same feeling she had when she went home and left him lying there in the dirt, alone and forgotten.

_ Blood on the ground, blood everywhere and unbearably hot against her skin, his eyes desperate and pleading as she holds him close, gripping his hand to her face, begging “No no no please god no” - _

Flynn repeats her name, this time a bit louder, and gently touches her elbow, which finally snaps her out of it.  She starts, head whipping around to face him with eyes that clearly don’t recognize him at first, but after a beat, she reaches out and grabs his arm tightly to steady herself.  Flynn waits, silent and unmoving, as Lucy wills herself to calm, taking deep breaths until she can feel the panic attack subsiding. She glances at him, a brief grateful smile crossing her face as her adrenaline fades, and he gives her a questioning look in return.

“This is where it happened,” she whispers, and he doesn’t have to ask what she’s referring to.  His face falls, gaze drifting to the ground, then back to her.

“Things will be different this time.”

“How do you know?”  She looks at him, eyes pleading, silently begging for reassurance that she knows he can’t possibly give.  “If time self-corrects, then what’s to stop-”

“Lucy, we don’t know what will happen; Hell, we don’t even know if Rufus is really here, so don't worry until there's something to worry about.”   It doesn’t reassure her particularly much, but she nods all the same, and just as they finally move toward the bar entrance, Wyatt reappears.

“It looks like there was a shootout in there.”  Before Lucy can panic, he adds, “No sign of Rufus and seemingly no one killed, just a lot of damage.  Most people left in there wouldn’t talk to me but a couple recognized his photo. He apparently took off toward the bay roughly a half hour ago.”

_ The bay. _  Fear rises in Lucy’s chest.  It is, of course, reassuring that her vision seems to be trustworthy thus far, but she’s also fully aware that they have a limited window to reach Rufus before-

Screams erupt to their left as a gunshot goes off, the crowd plunging into mayhem as people rush to get away from whoever fired.  “We need to move!” Lucy shouts, gripping her skirt in her hands and running down the street in the general direction of the bay. Flynn and Wyatt already have their guns out, but opt to follow Lucy rather than take on the shooter that they still can’t see.

“Split up!” Wyatt shouts, pointing off to the right as he dashes down the alley before him, and Lucy veers off down the path he gestured to.  Flynn hesitates, then opts to follow after her rather than take a third route. She’s grateful, of course, as she knows she has very little hope of holding her own in an all-out firefight, but the situation is all too familiar to her, and she worries that any second she’ll glance back and Flynn will be gone.  As if sensing this, Flynn grabs her hand with his free one, easily overtaking her and pulling her along with him to the point that she has to flat out run to keep up.

Despite her fears, however, they reach the wharf having seemingly lost whatever tail they may have had.  They pause at the end of the alley, Flynn scanning the crowd in both directions before nodding for Lucy to follow him, his gun now holstered again but hand gripping it tightly under his jacket.  They blend into the evening crowd, Flynn taking advantage of the cover to scan the distance while Lucy’s eyes drift to every face they pass. She realizes a minute later that she’s still holding Flynn’s hand and quickly lets go, but Flynn doesn’t seem to notice as he focuses on scouting for familiar faces or potential assailants.

Lucy hears her name echo from the distance and they spot Wyatt further ahead, waving an arm at them and gesturing for them to follow.  She and Flynn both rush toward him, garnering angry looks as they shove their way through the crowd. 

“I found him,” Wyatt says as they catch up, and they follow as he leads them through the crowd, finally stopping at an alley so small you could easily miss it unless you were looking for it.  There they find Rufus, sitting on a barrel and his face twisted in pain as he grips his arm. There’s a large patch of blood soaked through the sleeve of his jacket where he’s clearly been shot, but he looks otherwise unscathed, and Lucy hugs him tightly in relief.

“You’ve looked better,” Flynn comments and Rufus laughs before wincing.

“Good to see you too, buddy.  How did you guys know where to find me?  Jessica made me disable the tracker right after we landed at their headquarters and I never got a chance to reactivate it once I escaped.”  He pauses. “Actually, the bigger question is how you followed me at all.”

“Long story, but for now we’ve gotta move.”  Wyatt and Flynn lean against opposite walls at the alley entrance, scoping out the crowd for threats, and then both nod at each other before leading their group out into the open again, Flynn taking point while Wyatt covers the rear and Lucy helping steer Rufus as the blood loss steadily impairs his motor skills.  

They’ve nearly made it to the edge of the city without incident when two men suddenly appear around the corner seemingly from nowhere, the pistols in their hands clearly modern-day, but before they can fire both Wyatt and Flynn throw punches, Wyatt shouting for Lucy and Rufus to keep moving.  “We’ll catch up, just get the Lifeboat ready!”

Lucy hesitates, then nods and slips Rufus’s arm over her shoulders so they can move quicker.  She isn’t positive where they are, but the surroundings look familiar enough that she knows they must be on the right track.  They round a bend in the dirt road they’re on and she spots the hill where they’d left the Lifeboat up ahead, and adjusts her hold on Rufus, who hisses in pain at the jostling movement.  They’re halfway up the hill before Lucy pauses to catch her breath, helping Rufus to sit on a rock and tearing a strip of fabric from her skirt to tie around his wound. “You okay?” she asks, out of breath from running the whole way.  Rufus is sweating bullets, but nods.

“I’ve had worse.  Which, as a present-day engineer whose most violent hobby is Street Fighter, I should not be able to say, but apparently people love using the black guy as target practice.”

Lucy smiles despite the circumstances.  “If you can still make jokes, then you’re doing okay.  We’re nearly back to the Lifeboat. You ready?”

Rufus nods, holding out his good arm for Lucy to help him to his feet, and together they make their way up the hill, their urgency picking up the closer they get to the Lifeboat.  Reaching the base of it, Lucy helps Rufus to sit on the ground with his back to the leg strut. “Let me initiate the startup sequence, then I’ll help you in.” Lucy doesn’t wait for a response, crawling up into the Lifeboat and making her way to the command console to power it on.

“Um, Lucy?” Rufus calls.  “You may want to get out here.”

_ That doesn’t sound good. _  She quickly darts back to the hatch and hops down to the ground, returning to Rufus’s side.  “You okay?”

Rufus doesn’t respond, nods forward slightly, and she traces his eyeline to a point in the trees where she can see a pair of figures approaching them.  She can’t make out their features in the near total darkness, can only tell that one of them is clearly taller than the other, and calls out, “Flynn? Wyatt?”

But, as they grow nearer and the light from the Lifeboat cockpit begins to illuminate them, Lucy can see that the smaller figure is a woman.  She lifts the edge of her skirt slowly, the movement hidden from their view by Rufus at her side, and carefully pulls the gun from its holster, keeping it hidden behind her.  

_ Come on guys, hurry. _

“Who’s there?” she shouts, gripping the gun tightly as she waits for a response.

The taller figure lifts what Lucy can now see is an assault rifle, aiming it in their direction.  Finally, they both step fully into the light, and Lucy sees it’s not Emma as she half expected, but Jessica, accompanied by an older man who looks somehow familiar to her, though she can’t place why.

“Go ahead and toss that gun you’re hiding ahead of you,” the man calls, his voice low and dangerous.  Lucy glares, but does as instructed. Jessica reaches down to retrieve the pistol and aims it at both of them as she backs up to the man’s side once more.

“Can you pilot that with your injury?” Jessica asks Rufus, nodding her head at the Lifeboat.  He doesn’t reply, and Jessica sighs. “We’re not going to hurt you if you cooperate. We have instructions to bring both of you back with us alive.”

“You know,” Rufus finally says after a pause, “right about now, I’m really wishing you’d stayed dead.”

A flash of hurt crosses Jessica’s face, but she quickly composes herself.  “On your feet. We need to go.”

“Just going to leave your husband behind, then?” Lucy asks, her eyes narrowed.  

“He’ll be fine until I can come back and get him.  You’re higher priority at the moment.”

“Why?”

“Carol’s orders.”  Jessica motions with her gun for them to stand, and Lucy straightens, helping Rufus get to his feet.  “No matter what you do, she never stops believing in you. She seems to think it’s a matter of time before you join the family business.  It would be sweet if it wasn’t frustrating as hell for the rest of us.”

“She knows that isn’t going to happen.”

“Oh trust me, everyone has told her that, multiple times.  She’s a stubborn woman. Won’t even fill Benjamin’s seat on the council now that he’s in prison; says she wants it ready for when you join.”

Lucy grimaces.  “It’ll be a cold day in hell before that happens.”

“That’s what I figured, but I go where I’m told.  Hands in front of you, please.”

Lucy complies, as she doesn’t see very many options left while the rifle is aimed her way, and Jessica ties her wrists with a short length of rope.  She’s about to move on to Rufus as well when suddenly a pistol fires nearby, the bullet narrowly missing Jessica to ping off the side of the Lifeboat instead.

“Guys, get down!”

Wyatt and Flynn.   _ Finally. _

Lucy drops to the ground, Rufus falling to his knees beside her.  A flurry of gunfire follows, Jessica retreating quickly to the trees to take cover, and her armed guard returns fire while walking back slowly in the same direction as her.  He’s precise with his shots, methodical, and despite his considerable stature, he somehow manages not to get hit by any of the bullets flying around him.

Flynn appears out of the darkness, crouching as he comes to Lucy’s side.  She’s so relieved she could cry, and quickly holds her wrists up for him to untie.  He fumbles with the knots, his eyes on Rufus as he does so. “You doing okay?”

“Oh, never better,” Rufus says, looking dangerously pale.

“We need to get him home,” Flynn murmurs to Lucy, glancing at the firefight still taking place off to the side as Wyatt keeps Jessica’s guard pinned down and thoroughly distracted.  “Help me get him in.”

Together, Flynn and Lucy boost Rufus up into the Lifeboat, Lucy crawling in after him to help him strap into the pilot’s seat.  The startup sequence has finished running, and all that remains is for the coordinates to be keyed in for home.

“Someone may want to tell Wyatt to get his ass in here,” Rufus says, using his good hand to flick various switches on the console.

Outside the Lifeboat, Flynn is returning fire once more, crouched by the leg strut and trying to spot where Wyatt ended up.  He sees him across the clearing, kneeling behind a tree as he loads a fresh clip. Flynn runs toward him, keeping to the treeline for cover as well, and kneels beside Wyatt, setting a hand on his shoulder.  “We need to move. Lifeboat is ready.”

Wyatt looks at Flynn, and just by the expression on his face, Flynn knows what’s coming.

“No, Wyatt.  They’ll kill you-”

“I have to try.”

“She’s Rittenhouse!”

“Because they screwed with her past and indoctrinated her; she didn’t choose this, not really.  I’m not going to abandon my wife and child to them. I just need to talk to her. The Jessica I loved would have hated everything Rittenhouse stands for.”

“Wyatt,” Flynn says, exasperated, “the team needs you, and if you go after her, you could be walking straight into a deathtrap.”

“If it was your wife and kid, what would you do?”

Flynn goes silent, eyes lowered, knowing as well as Wyatt does that he’d do the exact same for Lorena and Iris.

“Just go, Flynn.  I’ll find a way to contact you guys later, give you the exact location of wherever we end up.”  Wyatt looks away, and Flynn can see the sadness in his eyes. “And tell Lucy I’m sorry. For everything.”

For once there’s no animosity between them, just two fellow soldiers pinned down in the foxhole together.  Flynn hesitates, conflicted, not wanting to leave the other man behind but knowing he’d made up his mind. For once he can relate to Wyatt - the desire to save your family, no matter the cost, is something he knows only too well, and he respects him for it.  He grips Wyatt’s shoulder tightly, and Wyatt briefly squeezes Flynn’s shoulder in return before handing him his gun. 

“Keep them safe until I get back.”

“Don’t do anything stupid and get yourself killed.  And contact us the instant you get a chance.”

Nothing more to say, Flynn makes his way back to the Lifeboat, and only once he’s nearly there does he realize the fight has gone silent.  He looks across the clearing and sees Wyatt stepping out into the open, hands held up in surrender as he walks slowly in Jessica’s direction.  She has her pistol trained on him, but the slight shake in her hands is noticeable, and she clearly has no desire to pull the trigger on her husband.

Shortly thereafter Flynn also realizes, as he turns to crawl into the Lifeboat and reaches for Lucy’s offered hand, that Jessica’s bodyguard has disappeared from her side, and it’s at that moment the butt of a rifle slams into his temple from out of nowhere.  He hears Lucy shriek his name as he stumbles back and falls to one knee, disoriented and seeing stars, all the sounds around him distant and muddled. He shakes his head to fight off the daze, touching his temple with one hand and feeling the warm blood now dripping there.  

The feel of the rifle’s barrel pressed to the side of his neck sobers him immediately, and he looks up at the man at the other end of the gun.  Flynn’s brow furrows as he fights to focus on the face. Something about him is incredibly familiar, though he’s certain they’ve never met.

The man smiles coldly.  “Gotcha.”

Flynn’s blood runs cold as he meets his eyes.  He knows those eyes, almost as well as he knows his own.

“...Gabriel?”


	11. Chapter 11

The next few moments are a blur in Flynn’s mind, as he reacts on pure instinct.

One hand flies up to grip the rifle by the barrel, shoving it back against his brother (his brother, why is his brother there, _what is happening_ ).  The butt of the gun hits Gabriel in his stomach, winding him, and Flynn immediately pulls the rifle out of his hands before he can recover and throws it behind him, driving his shoulder up and into Gabriel’s chest in an attempt to knock him off balance.  He’s clearly misjudged his opponent, however, as Gabriel instead grabs Flynn by the shirt and throws him bodily to the ground, kneeling on his chest with one knee and landing a punch to his jaw. Again Flynn is seeing stars, and struggles in vain to dislodge Gabriel’s knee so he can roll away and recover.

It’s on the third or fourth punch that Gabriel finally pauses, his fist still in the air, and once his vision clears Flynn can see the rifle now aimed at Gabriel’s head - and, at the other end, one Lucy Preston.

“Get the _fuck_ off of him,” she hisses, pushing the barrel harder against Gabriel’s forehead.  He complies, removing his knee from Flynn’s chest, and Flynn scrambles to his feet quickly and goes to Lucy’s side, Gabriel watching him with narrowed eyes but not moving a muscle.

Flynn leans down to Lucy and, without taking his eyes off Gabriel, whispers in her ear, “Back up, and when I give the signal, give me the gun and get in the Lifeboat as fast as you can.”  Lucy nods slightly, her eyes never straying from her target. They slowly back up toward the Lifeboat, and are only a few final feet away when Flynn yells, “Now!”

Lucy shoves the gun into his hands and rushes toward the Lifeboat as quickly as she can, and as Flynn expected, Gabriel takes advantage of the half second of confusion to get to his feet and make a dash for Flynn.  Anticipating it, Flynn flips the gun to hold it by the barrel in both hands and slams it against Gabriel’s temple like a club. This stuns him just long enough that Flynn has a chance to turn and follow Lucy into the Lifeboat, the door sliding closed just as Gabriel is recovering.

“Move this tin can!” Flynn shouts at Rufus, sliding quickly into his seat and fumbling with the restraints.

“Wait, what about Wyatt?” Lucy asks as she finishes buckling her own seatbelt.  It takes only a brief glance from Flynn for her to realize what took place. “No, we can’t leave him behind, we just got Rufus back-”

“And we’ll get him back too, but right now we need to move.  Rufus!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”  Rufus flicks a few final switches, and they hear bullets pinging off the door even as the ship jumps.

* * *

“Someone needs to explain to me what’s going on,” Rufus says once they’ve landed safely in the bunker, his one good hand fiddling with the buckles.  Lucy throws her own seatbelt off and moves to help Rufus while Flynn opens the hatch. “Because right now, it’s looking a lot like I just left one of my best friends behind to get captured.  Or killed.”

“Later,” Flynn says, brushing his concern off.  “We need to get that arm fixed up before you lose any more blood.”  

Both Lucy and Flynn help Rufus out of the Lifeboat and down the stairs that Jiya has slid over, and the look of glee as she sees them quickly turns to worry as she notices the blood soaking his right sleeve.  She holds out her arms to take over for Lucy as they reach the ground, and together Flynn and Jiya head toward the med bay, passing Denise and an increasingly concerned Connor as they go by. Still out of breath, Lucy heads for them, her adrenaline finally subsiding.

“Wyatt?” Denise asks after no one else appears from the capsule, and Lucy shakes her head.

“All I know is he stayed behind with Jessica. Flynn talked to him.”  She sighs. “I should have expected as much. She’s always been his whole life, even moreso if she’s pregnant.  I want to be angry with him, I _am_ angry, but….I get it.  It’s stupid and reckless, but people do stupid, reckless things for love.”

Denise looks grim.  “So our top soldier is now in Rittenhouse custody, in a location that we still have yet to find.”  She pinches the bridge of her nose. “It’s starting to feel like one step forward, two steps back with you people.”

“He’s going to make contact as soon as he can.  And yes, I did try and talk him out of it, contrary to what I’m sure you all believe.”  Flynn is heading back toward them from the direction of the hall, his own clothes now covered in blood as well.  He slips the jacket off and tosses it on one of the kitchen chairs as he passes, then slides the suspenders off his shoulders to dangle at his sides instead, sighing in relief.  The cut on his forehead from where the gun slammed into it is cleaned up, two steristrips holding it closed in lieu of stitches, but he’s developed a nasty bruise in the area all the same.  It occurs to Lucy how similar the bruising pattern looks to her own face after Emma accosted her during her first trip to San Francisco, and she wonders briefly if this is just another case of timelines bleeding over into each other.

“What happened, exactly?” Denise asks as he joins the group.

Flynn shrugs, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt as he does so.  “He realized what he’s fighting for. Seems to think he just needs a chat with his wife and she’ll defect in a heartbeat.  I don’t know how confident I am in that scenario, but short of knocking him out and dragging him to the ship, he wasn’t going to come with us.”

“That wouldn’t necessarily have been the worst idea.”  Denise sighs, shaking her head. “That man is going to get himself killed one of these days with his knee-jerk decisions.  If he hasn’t been killed already.”

“He’s been behind enemy lines before,” Lucy says, working to untie her hair from the era-appropriate bun it was in.  “At this point, all we can do is have faith in him.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right, there isn’t anything we can do currently.  We’ll just need to focus on next steps while we wait for him to make contact. Talking of which, we were able to secure a new safehouse while you were all away.”  Denise looks over at Connor with a small smile. “With Connor’s help, believe it or not.”

“I resent the implication that you’re surprised by that,” Connor retorts, trying and failing to hide his own smile.  

“We weren’t having much luck with possible military options, not ones that I trusted or that were available short notice in any case.  Luckily, Connor had an ace up his sleeve.”

“I had one property left, under a shell corporation name and so luckily it snuck by unnoticed when my assets were all liquidated.  I’ve been considering selling it now that I’m essentially broke, but it looks like it’s a good thing I held off.”

“And Rittenhouse won’t already know where it is?” Flynn asks, eyebrow raised, clearly skeptical.

“There’s no reason they should, I was quite careful to ensure it couldn’t possibly trace back to me, and regardless, I had rather heavy-duty security measures put in place relatively early on in my business relationship with Rittenhouse.  Call it foresight based on a bad feeling, I suppose.”

“It’s our best option at the moment.  I’ll continue looking for military options, but it’ll likely take some time.  The last thing we need is to arouse suspicion from whatever plants Rittenhouse still has in all the government agencies.  We’ll set up shop at the house temporarily, I’ll assign a few guards to watch the property, and hopefully that should cover our asses long enough to get Wyatt back, at the very least.”

“Good a plan as any,” Flynn says, nodding in approval.  “When do we leave?”

“Today, ideally. Our friend from the future has been collecting some necessities while we waited, but the rest of you will need to clear your rooms - essentials and identifying information only.  The rest we leave behind.” She turns to Connor. “Once Rufus is patched up, the two of you need to go track down our Lifeboat. You can meet us at the new safehouse.”

“Speaking of Rufus, I’ll go check how they’re doing.”  Connor heads across the kitchen toward the med bay (or what they’ve been calling a med bay - in reality, just a storage closet with a bed and a first aid kit).  Lucy-2 passes him on her way back, smiling as she approaches what remains of the group.

“Where is Wyatt?” she asks as she reaches them, her smile faltering as they exchange looks.  “What is it?”

“He stayed behind,” Lucy tells her future self.  “With Jessica. He thinks he’ll convince her to come home with him.”

Lucy-2 looks a mixture of distraught and angry.  “Meaning there’s a chance I’m heading home to an even smaller team than I started with.”  She sighs. “That goddamn idiot.” Despite the harsh words, there’s a warm undercurrent to her tone.  “Well, I certainly hope he succeeds. I guess I’ll find out, one way or another.”

“How did packing go?” Denise asks her, changing the subject, and Lucy-2 smiles again.

“Made a good dent.  Necessary supplies are waiting by the entrance to be taken to the surface.  Just personal effects left for the most part. And the rest of the med-bay, whenever it’s no longer in use.”

“Thank you,” Lucy says gratefully.  “You didn’t have to and we appreciate it.”

Lucy-2 nods.  “I also took the liberty of packing up some of your personal effects, seeing as they’re _our_ personal effects, really. But you should have a second look and see if there’s anything that I missed.”  

With nothing left to discuss, Lucy-2 looks at each of them in turn, pausing briefly when she reaches Flynn’s face.  “It was really good to see you again.” Before Flynn can ask what she means, she looks away and adds, “All of you. Even if you don’t remember me.  It’s been a while since I’ve seen everyone in the same room for more than a few minutes. Seeing you all coming together gives me hope. And don’t take this the wrong way, but...I hope this is the last time we see each other.”  She smiles, then crosses the launch area and climbs the stairs into the Lifeboat. Once inside, she pauses and turns back. “Good luck.”

“Same to you,” Lucy calls in return.  She shares one final nod with herself, and then the future Lucy disappears behind the closing hatch, and within seconds departs, leaving a hushed silence in her wake.  Lucy stares at the now-empty space for a moment, then turns and heads toward the hall. “Better finish packing.”

An hour later, she sets her final box near the door (and she’s sure Denise will have something to say about how essential her stacks of books are, hence having labeled it simply as ‘Lucy’ with no further details), then returns to her room to do one final check.  Jiya had completed her packing hours ago, leaving the room completely empty, and her footsteps echo slightly in the now wide open space. She feels a mix of relief that they would finally get fresh air - fresh air from their own time period, anyway - and a bittersweet sadness at leaving it behind.  There were plenty of bad memories associated with the bunker, that much was true - everything that had happened between her and Wyatt, fistfights and arguments between various team members (mostly the two soldiers, if she’s being honest), returning to the bunker in a panic after Flynn was killed…and yet, there were far more good memories, smaller but no less meaningful.  Her chats with Flynn at night, their collective group movie nights during their rare downtime, Jiya’s attempts at celebrating every single birthday as they came up. It had been home for just long enough that she would look back on it fondly, but it had also been a cage, and she knows that ultimately she won’t be sad to leave it behind.

As she turns to leave her room, her eyes are drawn to an odd shaped lump on her mattress, beneath the top blanket.  She tugs the blanket back and sees Flynn’s jacket folded in a neat bundle, and as she lifts it, a book she’s never seen before tumbles to the mattress.  She picks it up, reading the yellow sticky note still affixed to the cover.

_A parting gift.  Take care of them.  He needs you. - L_

Lucy pulls the note off the book and looks it over.  There’s nothing written on the outside, the cover a deep burgundy leather, and she realizes it must be yet another journal.  “I really need to start writing on a laptop,” she mutters to herself, flipping the book open, but she’s surprised to find that the writing inside is completely different from her own, a hurried choppy script that she struggles to read, some of which may not even be English, and she flips through the pages with curiosity.   _Is this….?_

“Lucy?  Are you ready?”  

She shuts the book quickly as the door creaks open further, Flynn leaning in slightly to check on her.  Lucy smiles at him and nods, holding the book close to herself with the jacket slung over her arm to cover it as she follows him out into the hall.  Jiya and Denise are standing near the door waiting, watching as the door-guards-turned-heavy-lifters move the various boxes into the cargo elevator. Once they have the final ones loaded, they slide the elevator door shut, the sound echoing down the hall.

“Someone gathered Wyatt’s things, hopefully?” Denise asks, and to all of their surprise, Flynn is the one who nods, prompting her to add,  “Are his things intact…?” Flynn rolls his eyes, but otherwise declines to answer.

“Where are we going?” Lucy asks as the empty elevator returns and they all gather in it.

“Two or three hours north of here, according to Connor.”  Denise hands Lucy a burner phone and a set of keys. “We stay in contact via that phone only until we get to the house and can verify we’re on a secure network connection; keep all your personal phones off in the meantime.  I’m going to ride in the truck where our things are packed so I can keep an eye on it, ensure it gets there with no issues. You three can take my car there, there’s a map inside with the location marked. I imagine Rufus and Connor will be taking the Lifeboat there once they have it fixed.  Flynn, you’re still armed?”

He opens one side of his leather jacket to display the gun holstered there and nods.  

“Good.  Move quickly, no unnecessary stops if you can help it, and if you run into anything at all, you call me.”  

The elevator grinds to a halt and Flynn slides the door up to reveal a clear night sky, a sudden rush of cold air blowing in against them.  Jiya shivers despite her heavy sweater and wraps her arms around herself. “Really wish I hadn’t packed my jacket now.”

“Oh, here, you can have this.”  Lucy holds the jacket in her hands out to her, which Jiya slips into.  The lower edge of the jacket reaches down to her thighs, and she shoots Lucy a questioning glance, to which Lucy blushes in response.  “It’s Flynn’s.”

He turns as he hears his name, sees Jiya absolutely swimming in his old leather jacket, and grins.  “Looks good.”

“Har har,” Jiya deadpans, scowling.  “Can we please just get in the warm car now?”

Denise’s sedan sits waiting on the service road 50 feet away, a military truck parked ahead of it which Denise veers away from the group to head to.  The remaining three make their way to the car, and Lucy tosses Flynn the keys.

“Uh, I think Denise wanted you driving, Lucy,” Jiya says, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of putting her life in Flynn’s hands.

“I’ll take second shift.  I can barely keep my eyes open right now.  If that’s okay with you…?” The last part is directed at Flynn, who smiles and nods.

“But we’re gonna stop for coffee, right?” Jiya asks as she slides into the back seat, and her face lights up almost immediately.  “Oh my god, can we get Dunkin Donuts? I haven’t had a good coffee in months. Or a donut, for that matter.”

“We’ll see what we pass,” Flynn says as he gets into the car and immediately pushes his seat all the way back (yet another thing he’s more than used to at this point in his life).  Lucy gets into the passenger side, rummaging in the glove compartment briefly to find the map that Denise mentioned. Once located, she props it open on the center console so Flynn is able to see it.  He looks into the rearview mirror at Jiya, smirking as he asks, “All buckled in, kids?” Jiya rolls her eyes with as much exaggeration as she can muster and Flynn chuckles, shifting the car into gear to follow the truck as it pulls away and turns onto the main road.

Not even an hour into the journey Flynn glances in the rearview again and sees Jiya laying on the backseat, clearly asleep if the line of drool trailing from the corner of her mouth to the seat is any indication.  He smiles and looks over at Lucy, who is staring out the window, lost in thought.

“You okay?”

She nods without looking at him.  “Just worried.”

“About Wyatt?”  He asks it a bit too nonchalant, and Lucy hides her smile.

“Wyatt, being out in the open, whether or not Connor and Rufus will be able to fix the Lifeboat - take your pick really.”  She finally turns from the window to face Flynn. “Who was that man?”

“Which man?”

“The one who gave you that.”  She taps his injured temple gently as she says it.  “Normally you’re shoot-first-ask-questions-later, but with him you refused to even so much as point a gun his way if you could help it.  And something about him was so familiar.”

A shadow crosses over Flynn’s face.  “I have only suspicions that I haven’t yet been able to confirm.”

“Suspicions of what?”

“Well, if I’m correct, that was Gabriel.”

It takes Lucy a second to work out what he’s saying, and her eyes widen.  “Gabriel? You mean your brother Gabriel? He’s Rittenhouse?”

Flynn nods sharply.  “We’ve not been particularly close, seeing as he had a whole childhood with me that I can’t remember, not to mention I’ve been in hiding for the last several years so there hasn’t been a chance for a good brotherly chat.  I don’t even know what he looks like yet, not at this age; the only reason I recognized him was because he has my mother’s eyes. But the last I heard, he was in Paris working as an engineer. Now he’s apparently combat trained and working for Rittenhouse, and I have no idea why.”

“Rittenhouse must have gone back and changed something.  Done to Gabriel what they did to Jessica.”

“That would be my guess.  But that raises so many other questions.  How long has he worked for them? Did my parents hand him over or did Rittenhouse recruit him when he was older?  Does he even recognize me?” He sighs. “Rittenhouse won’t be happy until my entire family line is wiped out, one way or another.”

Lucy can’t find the words, though she relates more than he knows, and she reaches out to place a reassuring hand on his knee.  Flynn’s jaw clenches at her touch, and Lucy immediately withdraws it and looks out the window again, murmuring a quiet, “Sorry.”

“No, Lucy…”  Flynn looks over at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road.  “You don’t understand-”

A yawn from the backseat cuts him off, and Jiya sits up, stretching her arms wide.  “Oh my god, I don’t recommend napping in a backseat if you value your spine. You’d think sleeping on those cement mattresses in the bunker would have built up my tolerance, but apparently not.”  She looks out the window. “No coffee yet?”

“Let me just run it by Denise.”  The car is silent as Lucy calls her on the burner phone, and she agrees to them taking a ten minute break at the next gas station they pass.  Jiya is obviously disappointed she won’t get her donut, but the moment they finally reach a gas station and park, she practically flings herself out of the back seat to rush inside, leaving Flynn and Lucy alone in the car.  An awkward silence hangs, both of them clearly wanting to resume their cut-off conversation but neither knowing quite what to say.

“Can we talk, alone?  Once we get there?” Flynn asks.  He’s almost shy about it, something Lucy didn’t anticipate.  She opens her mouth to respond just as Jiya returns to the car with a tray of beverages in hand, and Lucy quickly nods instead.  Seated and buckled in once more, Jiya hands each of them a cup from her tray.

“Tea for Lucy, mocha for me, and black coffee for the driver.  I had to guess, sorry if that’s way off the mark.”

Flynn sips it and grimaces for a brief second.  “Well, it’s definitely not the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”  He turns his head, pointedly addressing Jiya. “Was in the field once with someone whose idea of coffee was instant mix in a bottle of water.”

Lucy nearly chokes on her tea, gives Flynn a scandalized look.  His eyes drift from Jiya’s to hers, a grin on his face, and she can’t help but grin in return.  It was so easy to forget at times that this is the same Flynn from all those years ago, the same one who threatened her in one breath and comforted her in the next, the same broken man she met in São Paulo.  His expression is so soft and warm that she feels a blush rising on her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away this time. Can’t seem to bring herself to look away, in fact. Just when the meaningful silence between them is starting to stretch on awkwardly long, Jiya clears her throat, snapping both of them out of it.

“Clearly I’m missing something here.”

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Flynn responds, finally turning back to the road as Denise’s truck pulls away again.

“You know I’m only...well, okay, probably twenty years younger than you, but you’re a fossil.  Me and Lucy are only like eight years apart, tops.”

He laughs.  “Thanks for that.  Really know how to make a man feel great about himself.”

Lucy laughs as well, but declines to correct Jiya’s underestimation of how old she is.  The whole interaction reminds her of Amy, who used to take every opportunity she could to point out how much older Lucy was than her, especially on the rare occasion that Lucy had a date come by the house to pick her up.  She feels a pang of grief again at the thought of her sister and hides her face from both of them to stare out the window once more.

* * *

Lucy wakes with a start as Flynn touches her shoulder gently and takes a moment to get her bearings.  The sun is just starting to come up, and she can see that they’re now parked in a driveway next to an incredibly large house.

“When did we get here?” she asks, covering a yawn with one hand.

“Just now.  Connor and Rufus aren’t here yet, Denise is checking on their status.  They’re about to unload the truck.”

Lucy glances in the back seat and sees Jiya asleep once more, Flynn’s jacket bundled under her head as a pillow - and his other jacket, the one he’d worn to this point, draped over her like a blanket.  Flynn is looking out the windshield casually as Lucy turns back to him. “Got too hot,” he says before she can even ask the question, and she smirks. _You’re not fooling anyone, buddy._

Denise is off the phone and waves for them to join her, and both Flynn and Lucy get out of the car and head her way, letting Jiya sleep rather than wake her.  “They should be here within an hour - apparently the repairs are going well. Connor said to set up shop, gave me the security and door access codes. I’ll let you all in and you can figure out where everything should go.  Probably Jiya more than you two. Where is she?”

“Backseat.  Sleeping. Give her a few more minutes, we can check out the house in the meantime.”  Flynn holds a hand out ahead of him, beckoning for Denise to go first. “After you.”

Once inside with the alarms deactivated, Lucy wanders away from the others to explore.  The house is a blend of modern and Mediterranean architecture, the ocean clearly visible from the sitting room windows.  There are no other houses in sight, and she can just barely see in the morning darkness a stone path stretching from the house down to the shoreline.  After months spent underground, eating canned foods and having fluorescent bulbs as the only light source for downtime, the home feels so luxurious that she wonders if she’s just dreaming it.

“Well, this is certainly an upgrade.”  Flynn comes to stand next to Lucy at the window, hands resting on his hips as he takes in the view.  “Why on earth didn’t we _start_ with this as a safehouse?”

“Probably because it’s impractical and not easily defensible.”

“Seeing as we let a double agent waltz right into that bunker and call it home for several weeks, I’m not so sure any of that would have mattered.”

Lucy smiles at him before turning and crossing the sitting room, heading toward the stairs to the second floor.  “Time to claim a room. And if we each get our own private rooms, I might actually cry.”

She is pleasantly surprised as she wanders the second floor and finds several bedrooms of varying size, each with their own balcony or door to a shared terrace, and more than enough of them for each member of the team to have privacy for the first time in months.  Opting to leave the largest for the home’s owner, Lucy finds a room tucked in the corner away from the rest. In the center is quite possibly the fluffiest bed she’s seen in months, with a chaise in the corner alongside a gas fireplace. Every wall is windows, overlooking the ocean in the distance and the woods surrounding the property.

She slips off her shoes, relishing the feel of the plush carpet under her sock feet, and crawls onto the bed.  It is exactly as soft as it appeared to be, and Lucy lays back, sinking deep into the duvet, and lets out a contented sigh.  Her eyes drift closed, her adrenaline finally having run out, and before long she falls into a deep sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

“Has anyone seen Lucy?”

Most of the team is still seated in the dining room, savoring the meal that Connor had managed to whip together out of thin air (a definite step up from their past several months of processed food from a tin or box), and they all look up at once.  Flynn is standing in the sitting room with his arms crossed, frowning as he looks out the window toward the oceanfront.

“She was sleeping for most of the day,” Jiya answers, continuing to clear dishes from the table.  “Did you check her room?”

“Mm. No sign.”

“Outside, maybe?” Rufus says, hurrying to scoop up the last bite of food from his plate as Jiya steals it out from under him.  “We’ve been pretty cooped up for months, and when we haven’t been underground, we’ve been running for our lives. I wouldn’t mind a good old fashioned walk outdoors myself.”

“It’s worth a look.  I’ll be back.” Flynn retrieves his jacket from the back of one of the sofas and slips it on as he exits to the terrace, closing the door behind him.  The noise from inside abruptly dissipates, leaving only the distant sound of the waves crashing on the cliffs and shoreline. In front of him is a stone path that leads from the terrace down to the beach and Flynn makes his way down the hill, eyes scanning the dark as best he can.  A cold breeze is blowing off the water, making him shiver despite his jacket, and he half hopes that he won’t find Lucy there, as he’d vastly prefer to be warm indoors with the rest of them.

Unfortunately for him, upon reaching the beach he spots a figure a few yards down that must be Lucy, heading in the opposite direction of where he stands (and any doubt in his mind that it’s her fades as he notices she’s wearing one of his sweaters).  She’s strolling casually along the waterline with her arms crossed, staring off into the distance, not seeming to notice the waves washing over her shoes, and he heads toward her. Lucy turns as she hears him approach, a gentle smile crossing her face as she recognizes him.  “Hey Flynn.”

“Lucy, it’s freezing out here,” he says, gesturing to her wet feet.  “You’re going to catch a cold doing that.” The longer he looks at her, the more he frowns; she has a distant expression, as if her body is there but her mind is far away.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”  

Despite her words, he has a troubling feeling that something is off with her.  He can feel saltwater soaking through his shoes, as cold as he expected it to be, but he ignores it, and isn’t quite sure how Lucy is managing to do the same, which only makes him worry more.  He nods at her sweater. “Where did you find that?”

Lucy looks down, as if she forgot that she was wearing it.  “Oh. Sorry. I couldn’t find the box of my clothes in all the chaos of moving, but I was able to track down yours.  I can take it off.”

“No, Lucy, no need,” he says, putting a hand on her arm to stop her from pulling the sweater off.  He scans her face, concerned, while she does her best to avoid looking at him. “You’re clearly not okay.  You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong and you can tell me to piss off, but at least tell me I’m safe leaving you alone out here.”

She bites her lip, looking off to the side, then shakes her head.  "I'd prefer if you stayed.”

They continue down the beach side by side in silence, and after a minute or so passes Lucy slips her arm through Flynn’s, huddling close to him for warmth.  The sweater is almost comically large on her, the sleeves rolled up so as to not engulf her hands entirely, and she rolls them down slightly to shield her fingers from the cold breeze.

“Did you still want to talk?”

Flynn is taken off guard by the question; it’s true he had told her on the drive there that they’d talk later, but he’d somehow managed to forget in the flurry of activity since.  “Oh. Yes, of course.”

“We don’t have to-”

“No, we should.”  

She nods, staring at the ground, waiting for him to speak.  Every second that passes in silence seems to make Lucy curl in on herself more.  She looks almost afraid at what he might say, utterly lost and alone, and he’s only seen her this way once before - a night in the woods over a year ago, a distant memory for him, and yet he can still clearly recall the way her hand felt gripping his tightly, as if she was hanging on for dear life.  Again he has to remind himself that this is the same woman and that while it was a year prior for him, it had only just happened recently for her.

There is something hanging between them, something left unsaid, and neither quite knows how to say it.

“Flynn,” Lucy finally says, her voice quiet, “I’m sorry I’ve been overstepping your boundaries.  This whole experience has been incredibly disorienting for me; I came back to a life that doesn’t feel like my own, and it’s like there’s this...chasm between me and everyone else. You and I especially. It feels like it’s only been a week or two since I watched you die, and then I had to try to win the trust of a whole different version of you, and it wasn’t you even though it _was_ you. And now I’m back and I keep trying to just carry on as if nothing has changed, but I can’t because things obviously _have_ changed, and I just feel...”  Her rambling cuts off as she pauses to gather her thoughts.  She turns her head to look at him, the melancholy palpable on her face.  “...I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore. Like I don’t belong here, or anywhere.  And maybe I got you back, but as of late it feels like I lost you anyway.”

Flynn’s face softens as she speaks.  “Lucy, I’m the same person. And so are you. You haven’t lost me.”

She carries on as if she hasn’t heard him.  “When I came back, you lost _her_.  Your version of Lucy.  Whoever she was before I came back and took her place.  No wonder you can’t stand me touching you.”

“Is that what you think? That I can’t stand you touching me?”

“You jump or tense or pull away any time I do.”

He silently chastises himself.  She isn’t wrong, of course, but those reactions were for far different reasons than Lucy has clearly assumed, and rather than be clear and honest with her, he’s let her suffer in silence, because he didn’t know how to tell her the truth.  She was absolutely right, back at the bunker - he is a coward.

“So what do you call this?” he asks, nodding at their linked arms pointedly, and she immediately moves to withdraw hers, completely misinterpreting what he’s trying to say.  He sighs and stops walking, Lucy halting a half-second later to turn back to him. “Lucy, it’s not that I can’t stand you touching me, not even remotely. If anything, it’s the opposite.”

Her brow furrows.  “I don’t understand.”

He nods for her to follow him as he heads for a nearby rock, and they sit next to each other, Lucy taking care to leave space between them.  Flynn notices this, sighs and shuffles closer to her, and reaches out to take her hand, holding it in his lap and looking down at it as if searching for an answer there.  

“After my family was killed, I withdrew from other people almost entirely.  Every bit of human contact I had was rooted in violence of some sort - fighting, torture, killing, whatever was necessary.”  He grips her hand tighter. “Except when it came to you. You seemed so sure of yourself whenever you appeared, had all the answers I needed and seemed to know exactly where you stood with me, even if I didn’t.  And every time you left I found myself missing that...connection. It made me feel human again, when you were around. It felt like a small part of me was still alive. Those journal pages you left with me every time were like letters from a friend.  The only friend I had left.” She’s silent, her face expressionless as she watches him, though he can feel her squeezing his hand tightly in return. “And once we were finally on the same side, it was like the storm raging inside me had calmed. My desperation to get my girls back turned into-”  He cuts off, swallowing, looking deeply ashamed. “I think part of me gave up. On them. On getting them back. The rage that was driving me just turned into grief - and of course, I’d always had that, but I realized after some time that I’d stopped expecting to ever see them again, and my hope to save them was replaced by mourning.”

“But you said-”

“Not to give up hope.  I know.” He smiles. “And I didn’t, not consciously.  But one day I woke up and realized I was healing, as much as one can after losing everyone that they love.  I was seeing a future beyond just taking down Rittenhouse. Seeing myself having a life again, one day, whether or not I had them back.  And I feel like I’m betraying their memory every time I consider living in a world without them in it. I don’t deserve it, not after everything I’ve done.  They died for no other reason than their connection to me - don’t I owe it to them to do everything in my power to get them back, no matter the cost?” He lets Lucy’s hand go and leans forward, staring at the ground, elbows resting on his knees with his hands clasped in front.  “I don’t flinch because I can’t stand your touch, Lucy. I flinch because you’re tangible evidence that I’m moving on.”

The nervous fear in Lucy’s eyes fades as she stares at him, stunned, slowly processing what he’s trying to say without actually saying it.  She doesn’t respond, not at first, instead slipping off her perch on the rock, and he fears for a moment that she’s about to walk away from him, that he’s ruined one of the only things he has left that he holds dear.  But she kneels facing him instead, and he feels her hands cup his face gently, tilting it up toward her. She presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, his forehead, his other cheek, rests her head against his, and the gesture is so impossibly tender that he simply closes his eyes, relishing her touch, the tension leaving his body all at once.

“They wouldn’t have wanted that life for you, empty and full of loneliness, and you know that.  You’ve come so far in redeeming yourself, in spite of your past mistakes.  You deserve to be happy, Garcia. You do. Don’t bury yourself with them.”

He opens his eyes and leans back slightly to look at her.  Lucy returns his gaze confidently, and for the first time since she returned to the present he can see clearly the woman he first met in a bar in São Paulo, steadfast and determined.  Neither says anything for a moment, does anything, until he leans forward slowly, hesitantly, his head tilting slightly to the side, but he pauses just short of them touching, as if he’s giving her an out, time to pull away as he half expects her to.

Instead, she closes the distance before he can, pressing her lips against his earnestly, her hands dropping to grip the lapels of his jacket and pull him closer.   Every thought in his mind fades the moment they touch, and as the kiss deepens he slips off the rock to kneel as well, his arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her close.  He can feel her relax against him, her firm grip on his jacket easing as she instead trails her hands up over his shoulders to tangle in his hair, making him shiver. She’s calm and desperate all at once, as if she fears he’ll fade away any second, as if she couldn’t breathe until this moment and now that she has, she can’t give it up.

He knows the feeling.

They part briefly, silent and looking at each other with curious eyes, the unspoken question of _what is this_ hanging in the air between them.  And then Lucy pulls herself against him once more, this kiss more urgent, more hungry.  He kisses her just as fiercely, a silent promise that he will never willingly walk away from her, that he is utterly besotted and bewitched by her, and maybe always has been.  He’s never believed in love at first sight, destiny, any of that cliché bullshit, but he knows that from the first moment he saw Lucy Preston stroll up to him with a drink in hand and a smile on her face, even amidst his grief and confusion, it felt like he’d come home.

Eventually they part again, more out of necessity than anything, neither quite wanting to but the need to catch their breath winning out over their selfish desire to continue.  But rather than pull away completely, she leans in, arms wrapped tightly around him as she lays her head against his chest, and he hugs her tightly in return, resting his cheek against her hair.

“I’ve made a mess of things, nearly broken everyone’s timeline, to bring you back.”  She tilts her head to look up at him, and there’s such affection in her eyes that he has to resist the urge to kiss her again.  “But if I’m being honest, I don’t regret any of it. I would do it a hundred times over.” She leans up and presses her lips to his in a slower, more languid kiss, then pulls away and opens her mouth to finish what she was saying, her expression an odd mix of fear and exhilaration, as if she’s finally about to admit something that she’s been holding in for a very long time.

But before she can say anything further, she blinks, sways slightly, and slumps to the wet ground, her eyes rolling back in her head as she falls limp.  Flynn quickly moves to lift her in his arms as she collapses. “Lucy!” She doesn’t respond to his voice or his touch and he hoists her out of the frigid saltwater in both of his arms, cradling her against him as he rushes back up the path toward the house.

* * *

_Dark, cold, water dripping incessantly in the distance, drowning out the silence.  Seated on the floor, he has his back to the stone wall, his face in his scarred hands._

_A door creaks open.  Slivers of light reach the bars, casting shadows over his cell.  He looks up, squinting, his eyes still red._

_“Daddy?”_

_Small hands reach through the bars.  He scrambles forward, slips his arms through to hold her as best he can, clinging tightly and savoring the moment that he knows will be brief._

_Pulled away from him, her small hands tightly gripping his own, she shrieks, fights to hang on._

_“Please, a bit longer-”  The butt of a rifle slammed into his face silences him; he collapses back to the ground, spits blood on the filthy floor, no fight left in him to protest and he stays down even as she screams._

_“You have a job to do.”  The cell door opens and he’s hauled roughly to his feet.  “Do that, and then we can talk about a longer visit.”_

_A gun and a photo are shoved roughly into his hand as he’s dragged out the door._

_“You have 24 hours.  And you know what happens if you’re a second later than that.”_

_He looks at his wife standing behind all of them, her eyes downcast, filled with shame, with pain, with heartbreak and fear.  She can’t look at him, doesn’t ever seem able to look at him anymore, a hollow shell of herself._

_His daughter, still fighting to get to him, is held tightly in the arms of a woman with chestnut hair who crouches and waits patiently for her to calm, rubbing her back with one hand to soothe her._

_“It’s okay Abigail,” he says, his smile forced as he shoves the gun into his waistband.  “Dad will be back soon.”_

* * *

Lucy’s eyes fly open, heart hammering in her chest, and she sits up gasping desperately for air, her arms outstretched as if reaching for someone.  She’s disoriented, looking around wildly at her surroundings until she recognizes her bedroom, and she lays back in her bed, still breathing heavily but willing herself to calm.  A vision, nothing more. She’s not sure she will ever get used to them. Her head is throbbing, worse than any migraine she’s ever had in her life, and she’s still struggling to process what she’d seen.  She wonders briefly if the pain is her brain’s response to the timeline fracturing even further.

A moment later she notices Flynn in the corner, curled up on the chaise that is clearly too small for him in a position that looks far from comfortable and with a throw blanket covering only a fraction of his body.  There’s a book lying folded in his lap, the only light in the room cast from the lamp behind him, and outside the sky is still dark. The house is quiet, no doubt meaning the rest of the team are also asleep.

Rather than wake Flynn, she slips out of her bed, shutting her eyes tight as she stands and feels a wave of nausea pass over her.  It fades seconds later, and she wanders over to her en-suite bathroom, closing the door quietly behind her. Flicking the light on, she squints at herself in the mirror, frowning at how pale her face is.

She exits the bathroom, again moving as quiet as she can manage, and crosses to the night table next to her bed.  Pulling open the drawer, she retrieves the burgundy journal that she had stashed there beneath some innocuous papers.  She gathers the quilt from her bed around her shoulders for warmth and makes her way to the terrace door.

Outside she finds a small seating area, with a gas fire pit at the center that she quickly turns on, sighing in contentment as the flames cast gentle light and warmth over her.  She curls up on the nearest sofa under her heavy quilt and flips the book open.

She’s so engrossed in reading that she doesn’t realize how much time has passed until she hears the terrace door open.  She quickly tucks the book away under the blanket, smiling as Flynn wanders over and sits next to her on the couch.

“How are you?” he asks, clearly still exhausted and somewhat shaken from recent events, but doing his best to hide it.  Lucy knows him far too well for that to work. She turns so she’s seated next to him rather than facing him, and leans her head on his shoulder, taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his.

“Fine.  Bit of a headache but it’s fading.”  His skepticism is obvious, and she turns his face toward hers and kisses him, soft and brief, reassuring him she’s okay, and she can see him visibly relax as she pulls away.

“Was it a vision?”

“Yeah.”

“Who was it about this time?  Rufus again?”

“No.”  She turns to stare into the fire.  “Wyatt. Much further in the future than anything previous.”

“How do you know?”

“The baby.  She must have been 3, 4 years old.”

“She?” Flynn repeats softly.  “A daughter?” Lucy nods. “I suppose that means Jessica was telling the truth, then.”

“It looks that way.”

“What else did you see?”

Her brow furrows.  “He was being kept in some sort of cell.  Alive, banged up a bit but seemed fine overall…physically, anyway.  But his face....I’ve never seen him like that. He looked hopeless, resigned.  And they gave him a job of some kind - killing a target, I think.”

“He’s working for Rittenhouse, then?”

“Maybe.  But not willingly.  I think they’re using his daughter as blackmail.”

Flynn’s face darkens.  “The lengths these evil bastards will go to in order to get what they want will never cease to amaze me.  Was it Emma?”

“I don’t know who was ordering him around.  I didn’t see them. There were a few voices, a man I’m assuming was Nicholas Keynes, but I don’t know if the woman was Emma or my…”  She swallows. “My mother.”

“Was there anyone else with them?”  She knows what he’s really asking, between the lines.   _Was Gabriel with them?_

“A few guards, I didn’t recognize them.  Some woman was taking care of Wyatt’s daughter, I never got a clear image of her.  And Jessica. She wasn’t locked up, but she didn’t seem particularly pleased at anything taking place either.”

Before she can say anything more, another door opens further down the terrace and Rufus steps out.  Lucy untangles herself from Flynn quickly, not out of any shame, but to avoid any questions that might arise that she doesn’t feel like dealing with yet.  Flynn seems to understand, as he leans back with his arms crossed instead and stares out at the ocean in the distance, where the sun is just starting to rise.

“Hey.  You’re both up early.”  Rufus checks his watch. “Or maybe late is a better word.  You okay, Lucy?”

“I’m fine,” she replies, smiling, which Rufus raises an eyebrow to.

“I also enjoy a seizure on the beach now and then.  Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. What’s the prognosis from your bedside nurse?”  He looks over to Flynn, who raises an eyebrow in return.

“If the lady says she’s fine, then she’s fine.”

It does little to reassure Rufus, but he shrugs regardless.  “Fair enough.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”  Lucy asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah.  It figures.  Spend a year sleeping on concrete mattresses and suddenly we have these gloriously soft beds that none of us can stand.  Aside from Connor and Jiya, apparently, but those two could fall asleep anywhere.” He sits on the sofa opposite Lucy and Flynn.  “You freaked us out, Luce. When Flynn came running in with you passed out in his arms, we all thought Rittenhouse had gotten to you somehow.  Still not used to being this out in the open, I guess.”

“I know.  I never thought I’d miss being underground, if only for how safe and secure it felt.”  She pauses a beat. “Though I suppose even that didn’t stop Rittenhouse from waltzing in.”

“That’s a little different,” Rufus points out.  “Talking of which, have either of you heard anything from Wyatt?”  Lucy shrugs and looks to Flynn, who shakes his head. “And of course we can’t do anything until he contacts us with a location.  Something we have no guarantee will happen.” He sighs. “Gee, it’s too bad someone didn’t just, I don’t know, knock him out or something.  Y’know, before he could run off and make poor life choices.” Flynn staunchly ignores Rufus’s pointed words and stare. “So what do we do now, then?”

“Keep looking, I guess,” Lucy says, sitting up straighter.  “All hands on deck. Use every resource we have available and ramp up the search.”

“Our resources are pretty much limited to books and the internet.  Denise wants us to get Connor’s surveillance software up and running as soon as possible.”  He yawns. “Guess I’ll go get a head start on that. Either of you want a coffee?” He grimaces.  “Or espresso, I guess, since Connor is nothing if not a pretentious rich guy. Or he used to be, anyway.  Still, caffeine is caffeine.”

Lucy smiles.  “Sure, thanks Rufus.  We’ll be down in a bit.”

He gives them a strange look as he leaves, as if something is different but he can’t quite put his finger on it.  Once he’s disappeared back inside, Lucy glances at Flynn, unable to keep the sly grin off her face, and his usual smirk turns into a warm grin as well, both of them laughing quietly.  

“You stay here and rest, I’ll retrieve provisions.”  Not giving her a chance to protest, Flynn presses a kiss to her temple and stands.  Lucy watches him leave, smiling, and once she’s alone again, pulls the journal back out from under her blanket.

* * *

Flynn hears Rufus yelp in pain as he makes his way down the last set of stairs to the main floor, and sees him standing over the espresso machine having clearly just given himself a light steam burn.

“How the hell does this thing work?” he says to no one in particular.  “What I wouldn’t give for a good old-fashioned overpriced, environmentally-unfriendly coffee pod right about now…”

“Need a hand?” Flynn asks as he enters the kitchen.

“Be my guest,” he mutters, stepping aside to busy himself instead with tracking down mugs.  Within minutes Flynn has the machine ready, and they form an assembly line of Rufus handing him mugs one after the other to then fill with painfully strong coffee.  “How the hell do _you_ know your way around an espresso machine?”

Flynn chuckles.  “My extremely Slavic father had high standards for his coffee, so naturally his wedding gift to me was an espresso machine that Lorena loathed using.”

Rufus leans back against the counter, arms crossed, looking curiously at Flynn.  “I think that’s the first time you’ve talked openly about your family. With me, anyway.  Really ruins my image of you as a murderous sociopath.”

“Gee, thanks Rufus, you aren’t so bad yourself,” Flynn replies, grinning and taking a sip from his coffee.  Rufus remembers the mug in his own hand and also takes a sip, then looks over at Flynn with eyebrows raised, clearly impressed.

“As much as it pains me to admit, this isn’t half bad.  Maybe there’s something to this whole pretentious-rich-guy thing.”  Rufus is quiet a minute or two as he watches Flynn make another coffee, before he clears his throat and says casually, “So...you and Lucy.”

“What about me and Lucy?”

“Something going on with you two?”

“Not sure what you mean,” Flynn says, not looking up, his tone a little too nonchalant.

“Oh come on.  You guys have had this weird vibe going for a while now, not to mention you refused to leave her side until she woke up, and then I find you cozied up with her outside at 4 AM.  I’m not an idiot, Flynn.”

Having finished making the last coffee, this one for Lucy, Flynn continues to avoid looking at Rufus, instead taking two mugs in hand and heading for the stairs.  “You’re imagining things. Best get started on hunting down Wyatt, don’t you think?”

From over his shoulder, he can hear Rufus snort and call after him, “Sure, whatever you say, buddy.”

Upstairs, Flynn heads for Lucy’s room again.  Spotting her through the window to the terrace, he pauses at a distance to watch her.  She’s wrapped up in reading something, biting her lip lightly as her eyes quickly scan the pages, and she lifts a hand to tuck her hair back behind her ear.  That same hand then drifts to her neck, where she pulls a chain out from beneath her shirt to fiddle absently with the pendant. It takes him a second to realize what exactly the pendant is.

A gold ring. The same ring as the one on his hand. 

_You don’t know me, but I know you.  Really well, actually._

Years for him.  Weeks for her.

He sets the mugs down on a table to his left and looks down at his left hand, then at Lucy once more, before he slips the ring off and transfers it to his right hand instead, and before he can consider what exactly the gesture means to him, he picks up the coffees and heads her way.


	13. Chapter 13

The utter silence in the garage should be unsettling to Rufus.  Really, it should. He’s used to working in a frenzied crowd of fellow engineers in labs that made Space X look like chump change (or as of late, at least as part of a team of two others - though the lab had certainly been a severe downgrade).  The low hum of the portable servers, as well as his keyboard and mouse clicks, are the only sounds in the open space, seeing as Jiya and Connor are still dead to the world back in the main house. He knows this because he’s checked every hour to see if he’ll have help soon or not.  Even a plate of peanut butter toast wasn’t enough to rouse Jiya, which meant she was definitely exhausted, as there was _nothing_ that could get in the way of Jiya and her peanut butter obsession.  The one thing he hadn’t tried yet was physically attempting to wake her, but considering he nearly had his head taken off by a thrown alarm clock the last time he tried that, it remained a last resort - if he wanted all of his pieces intact, anyway.  

So instead he’d been plugging away solo at getting the surveillance software up and running, with painfully slow progress due to his arm injury (thankfully he’d always been quick at typing with one hand, courtesy of years sneaking sips of coffee or bites of food while refusing to pause in his work), and for the last two hours it’s been him, alone, in an echoing space, talking to himself (or the servers) while daydreaming of taking advantage of that amazing pool out back.

He should be uncomfortable, or annoyed at being left alone, but if he’s being honest, right about now he sort of feels like Tony Stark, and that will _never_ be something to complain about in his books.

He’s so engrossed in what he’s doing that he fails to hear anyone else entering the room until he feels hands slide over his shoulders, the arms that the hands are attached to then wrapping around his neck, and there she is, his love, light of his life, hugging him tightly from behind and nuzzling her face against the side of his neck as she whispers, “Hey you.”  

It would be adorable if she didn’t have absolutely foul morning breath.

“Good morning, my queen.”  He deftly untangles himself from her arms, the very picture of smooth and subtle as he instead stands and goes in for a morning kiss (deflecting at the last second to her cheek - so much for smooth and subtle).  Luckily Jiya doesn’t notice, grinning as she peeks around him at the screen.

“How far did you get?”

“I believe it’s up and running but I’m just doing some tests to make sure it’s accurate.  We don’t have the computing power of Mason Industries here, obviously, so it’s going to run a bit slower, and I’m going to have to backdoor into the NSA servers once Connor is awake.  But it’s further ahead than we were yesterday, so...yay?”

“Oh, to go back to the days where all we had to worry about was where and when to jump.”  Jiya shakes her head, then retrieves his empty mug from the desk. “I’m assuming you need a top-up?”

“Only if you’re making yourself one.”  

“Working without caffeine?  You’re insane if you think I’m going anywhere near a keyboard without coffee.”  She turns to leave, then quickly turns back to kiss Rufus once more, but switches at the last second to his cheek, the glint in her eye as she pulls away tells him he’s totally busted.

Jiya heads to the kitchen with Rufus’s mug, glancing around once there in an attempt to spot the coffee maker, and her eyes fall on the espresso machine instead.  “Really? Come on, Connor.” Sighing, she retrieves the bag of ground espresso and gets to work making convoluted and far-too-strong coffees for herself and Rufus.  Lucky for both of them, she’d put herself through school working as a barista, a job she’d loathed until the day she was able to finally quit and go work for Connor instead.

“Hey Jiya.”  

She looks up as Lucy enters the room with an empty mug in hand, still wearing her pajamas and with her hair pulled back in a messy bed-head top knot.  “Morning Lucy. Looking for a refill? I’m already at it, give it here.”

“Thanks.”  Lucy hands her the mug and seats herself on a stool across the kitchen island from Jiya.  “Sleep well?”

“You have _no_ idea.  When this is all over, can I take the bed with me?  It’s like sleeping on a cloud.”

“Right?  Maybe we can do a rent-to-own with Connor.”

They share a laugh but are quickly interrupted by the ringing of the burner phone that Denise had left them, which had been sitting on the counter silent and ignored ever since they arrived.  She quickly reaches for it, mouthing a silent thank you to Jiya as she takes the offered coffee mug from her hand. “New hideout, how may I direct your call?”

_“I’d prefer a bit more discretion, on the off chance it isn’t me on the other end.”_

“Good morning to you too, Denise.”

_“Any luck in the hunt for Wyatt?”_

“We’ve gotten a bit of a late start.”  Lucy sets the phone down on the counter, tapping the speakerphone icon.

“Hey Denise,” Jiya calls from across the kitchen, where she’s busy shoving pieces of bread into the toaster.  “Rufus got the software up and running, he and Connor need to do a bit more calibrating and then we should be able to run the facial and gait recognition programs.  Could take some time though, we’re working with underpowered equipment, and this is a very early version of Connor’s software, not the heavy duty final version that died with Mason Industries.”

_“Best we can do at this point. I consider us lucky that he had a copy of the software at all.  Keep me posted. I’m going to head your way this afternoon, Michelle and I have a school meeting about Mark this morning and then the drive up will take a bit.  Could one of you draft a quick sitrep so we can get right into it when I arrive?”_

“Sitrep? Um…”  Lucy looks up at Jiya blankly, who shrugs.  

Denise sighs on the other end of the line.   _“Just tell Flynn to do it, he’ll know what I mean.”_

“Will do.  See you later.”  Then, after a beat, Lucy adds, “Good luck with your meeting.”

_“Thanks, joys of having teenagers.  See you soon.”_

“Where is Flynn, anyway?” Jiya asks, sliding a plate of toast and the jar of peanut butter over for Lucy to assemble her own breakfast.

“Napping. I don’t think he slept well.  Any idea where my laptop might be in this mess?”  She jabs a thumb over her shoulder as she speaks toward the mountain of boxes they still have yet to unpack, let alone move out of the main entrance.

“My best guess, a box marked Lucy.”

“...very helpful.”  Lucy crosses over to the boxes and rummages around briefly, uncovering her laptop a minute or two later (resting on top of her MIA clothes, hallelujah).  She tucks her breakfast plate inside and lifts the box to carry upstairs. “Be back soon, just gonna move this up to my room.”

“Sounds good.”

Lucy’s arms are about to fall off once she finally reaches the upper floor and she heaves the box onto a desk in the empty office at the end of the hall, the only room with the door already open.  Deciding she’ll come back later to retrieve her things, she heads for her room with the plate of toast and gently eases the door open. Flynn is still asleep in her bed, splayed out on his back and taking up most of the mattress, and it occurs to her that he’s spent the better part of the past year squeezing himself into beds that didn’t remotely cater to people of his stature, and the fact that for once his feet aren’t hanging off the end of the mattress must feel like heaven to him.  Their standards for luxury have clearly gotten lower and lower over time.

She closes the door behind herself and sets the plate down on the night table, then crawls onto the bed and props herself up on one arm next to Flynn.  His face is serene, more peaceful than she’s ever seen it, and she reaches with one hand to brush the hair off his forehead, trailing her fingers down his stubbled cheek as she pulls away.

Flynn stirs at her touch, his eyes fluttering open slowly and a sleepy smile crossing his face as she sees her.  “ _Dobro jutro,_ ” he murmurs, and it takes a full five seconds and Lucy’s confused face before he realizes what he’s said.  “Sorry. Good morning. Takes my brain a bit longer to wake up than the rest of me.” Lucy grins and leans down to press her lips to his.  He breaks the kiss quickly, covering his mouth with his hand. “Trust me, you don’t want to do that first thing in the morning.”

Lucy laughs and shoves his hand aside to kiss him again firmly, her tongue parting his lips as if making a point, and Flynn doesn’t protest or fight her, instead wrapping his arms around her and rolling to the side to pin her beneath him.  Lucy giggles (and immediately mentally scolds herself on her mother’s behalf, “Professional, educated women do not _giggle_ , Lucy”), and the giggle turns into a sigh of pleasure as he kisses a trail down her neck, nipping gently at her throat.  She lets her hands roam freely, trailing over his arms, his chest, feeling and savoring the ridges of his muscles and how good his skin feels bare against hers.

She’s enjoying herself so much, it is only natural that they should be interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Um, Lucy?  You in there?  Have you seen Flynn?”

They freeze in place as they hear Jiya’s voice from the other side of the door.  “What’s up?” Lucy calls, doing her best to keep her tone relaxed and nonchalant.

“Rufus and Connor are looking for Flynn, they want to touch base for that sitrep-thing that Denise asked for.”

Flynn has silently resumed his incredibly distracting task of exploring Lucy’s neck with his mouth, and she tries in vain to push him away, giving him a look she hopes is stern, but she can’t quite keep the smile off her face and she can’t blame (and doesn’t particularly mind) his ignoring it.  “Sorry, haven’t seen him.”

“No problem.” Just as they think they’ve gotten away with it, Jiya adds, “See you in a bit, Flynn.”

He lets his face drop to the mattress with a quiet groan.  Lucy sighs, sliding out from under Flynn into a sitting position.  “Probably just as well, we have more important things to focus on at the moment.”  She knows this, intellectually, rationally, but her body is doing it’s best to convince her otherwise, especially with Flynn still laying half naked in her bed with a look in his eye that tells her he, too, is trying his best to behave but struggling.  Before she can change her mind, she stands, gathering Flynn’s shirt from the floor and throwing it at his head. “Best get downstairs before the rest of them come looking for you too and we have a whole audience.”

“You staying up here to research?”

“I’m a historian.  The present isn’t exactly my forte.  I’ll do what I can, but I doubt I’ll be much help on this one.  So rather than hurry to do that, I plan to take a long, hot bath first.”  She’s halfway to the bathroom as she says this, discarding her own shirt and clad in only her bra and lounge pants as she glances back at Flynn mischievously.  His shirt is halfway on when he sees her and he freezes for a moment, swallows, then finishes pulling his shirt down the rest of the way with considerable effort.

“Duty calls.  I’ll check back in with you later.” He catches her by the waist as she walks by and pulls her close to give her one final kiss before he leaves.  He pauses only briefly near the door to snatch a piece of toast and shoves it in his mouth as he disappears.

Lucy shuts the door to the bathroom behind her, catching sight of herself in the mirror; there’s a smile on her face that she can’t seem to shake.  She is, of course, still racked with worry over Wyatt, especially in the wake of her vision. But she’s feeling else, something she hasn’t felt in a long time - not since things between her and Wyatt crashed and burned, in fact.  Her and Flynn having shed any pretense of being friends and nothing more has somehow opened a floodgate in her, where she can’t seem to keep her mind off him and wants nothing more than to haul him back upstairs to finish what they started, where the thought of his face makes her chest (and the rest of her) ache in a very good way.

_Time and place, Lucy._

She turns the tap for the bath to as hot as she can stand and seats herself on the edge of the bathtub, staring out the window opposite (and leave it to the wealthy to have windows anywhere they can, even at the expense of privacy, because who needs privacy when your closest neighbor is 8 miles away).  The sun is out in full force and the ocean is shimmering in the light. She could almost pretend she’s on a vacation rather than hiding away.

She sheds her remaining clothes, wincing as she looks at her body in the mirror.  Her skin is covered in bruises, so many that she can’t even recall where half of them came from, and a few scars are forming on her arms where she’s been cut previously, a particularly nasty gash trailing down one shoulder from the incident in Salem.  It’s a jarring reminder of the danger they’re really in, regardless of their current surroundings.

The bath now full, Lucy slides into the water and lays her head back, eyes closed, and sighs.  It’s the first proper bath she’s had in god knows how long - at least 12 months - and her aching muscles respond to it almost immediately.  She lays there for some time, halfway between sleep and awake, her mind blank.

The image of Wyatt crouched and holding his daughter through the bars of his cell jumps into her mind unbidden, and she quickly pushes it aside.  She fully intends to enjoy this bath, and ruminating on the details of her vision can come later. Except that, as soon as she’s buried one image, another pops up, as if the vision is fighting for her attention.  Again she lets out a breath, clearing her mind, and again her brain refuses to cooperate.

She opens her eyes and stares at the wall in front of her.  Another memory has come to mind, not of Wyatt, but of Jiya, in San Francisco 1888, explaining to them that she’d spent 3 years learning to control her visions.  She half wishes she could pop downstairs and ask Jiya how, except for the fact that Lucy is the only one who still remembers Jiya ever having had visions, another lonely reminder of how out of place she’s felt since returning.

But this gives her pause.  She may not know the ‘how’ of it, but she knows it’s possible, and Lucy Preston is nothing if not resourceful when she needs to be.  

Settling back down in the water, she lays her head back once more, eyes again closed, and clears her mind.  As before, images from her vision come to mind, and this time she leans into it, doesn’t fight it, instead focusing on it alone.  The sound of the bathroom fan starts to grow distant, the light shining through her eyelids fading to black, and she starts to feel weightless, drifting, ethereal yet grounded.  She can feel her eyes rolling back in her head, feels as if she’s falling into oblivion, into blackness, fading and fading and takes a deep breath right before impact-

_They’re flowing around her, shapeless, faceless, all rushing to get where they’re going.  The cold is unbearable, rain against her skin, and she looks up at the cloudy sky before deciding she needs shelter, somewhere, anywhere._

_“...the right track….babydoll.”_

_She jumps, hearing his voice fading in and out quickly, and whips around trying to spot the source.  Nothing but faceless figures, and the more she tries to focus on them, the blurrier they get. She tries to remember what direction she heard it from, but trying to grasp details here is impossible, like a rope falling through her hands that she can’t get a grip on._

_“...can’t lose you again.”_

_This time she can track it, turns to the left and starts off in the direction she heard it from.  Still she sees nothing familiar, but before long she stands at an entrance, a glass revolving door.  Her reflection is absent._

_She follows the crowd flowing in and out of the building, looking at her surroundings as she enters.  A lobby of some kind - an office building? She crosses to what must be a welcome desk, tries to catch sight of anything that might identify where she is, but the papers, the monitor, all of it shimmers, a metaphorical finger wag from the universe - ah ah Lucy, it’s not that easy._

_She continues with the crowd, crossing to the elevator banks, and follows them on.  Her hand hovers over the panel of numbers, a finger drifting to 24 for a reason she can’t quite grasp.  They ascend slowly, stopping at each floor, until finally halting at her chosen floor._

_She finds another welcome desk, unmanned at present, and a single door ahead with an access panel next to it.  Walking up to it, she traces the panel with her hand and jumps as the light flicks to green and the door locks disengage._

_Inside is dark, a long line of cells, most empty._

_“Hey!”_

_Her head snaps up, following the voice, and she rushes after it.  The previous ones all floated to her like a disappearing whisper, but this one, not this one; it echoes toward her with an angry edge.  Despite this, she follows. Near the end, she sees another figure, this one with perfect clarity, her blonde hair falling around her shoulders, her arms crossed tightly, leaning against the cell bars._

_And there he is, standing, hands gripping the bars, leaned in close, his face desperate, pleading.  Her heart beats faster as she sees him - no scars, no bruises, no injuries of any kind. For now. Thank god._

_“Are they taking care of you?”  Surprisingly, the words are his._

_“They’ve always taken care of me, Wyatt.”  She sounds tired, frustrated, wishing he understood._

_“Maybe.  Until they don’t, anymore.”_

_She ignores his words, sighing.  “Why are you doing this? I can’t protect you here.”_

_“This is the only way I can talk to my wife anymore, apparently.”_

_“Wyatt, I’m not your wife.  Not really.”_

_“Then why are you still wearing your ring?”_

_Her arms drop and she looks at her hand, twisting it on her finger thoughtfully before deciding to leave it alone.  He lets go of one of the bars and reaches through the gap to take her hand before she can cross her arms again, and she lets him.  He’s tender, gentle, tracing his thumb along her knuckles. They look at each other, sadness in both their eyes._

_“Jess, this isn’t you.”_

_“Wyatt-”_

_“Okay, fine, they raised you, they saved your brother.  I can tell you for a fact they only did that to get at me, they wouldn’t give a shit about your brother otherwise.  You’ve seen it yourself, Jess, you’re smart as hell, you have to see what they’ve done. They have loyalty to no-one, and once you’re no longer useful you’ll be tossed aside.  They’re using you.”_

_“That’s not-”_

_“Rittenhouse is blood.  Exactly how far back does your family line extend, as far as they’re concerned?”_

_She looks down._

_“Jess.  I am your family.  I always have been, I always will be.  And I would lay down my life to keep you and the baby safe.”_

_She screws her eyes shut, holding back tears.  “Wyatt, I can’t…” She wipes her eyes and looks up at him again, shaking her head.  “I love you. I love you so much it hurts. But I can’t do this.”_

_She’s stepping away, and he reaches for her in vain.  “Jess, just...think about it. We could have a normal life, the picket fence, the nursery, all of it.  Rittenhouse will never give you that. So please, just think about it. Don’t give up on us. Don’t give up on me.  I love you - both of you - more than anything in this world.”_

_Jessica pauses only briefly before turning on her heel and striding away.  Lucy stumbles back, directly in her path, and as Jessica passes by she feels herself fall back, falling, falling, it all fades into the distance, she can’t stop, she reaches out her arms but there’s nothing to grab and-_

Lucy wakes with a start, splashing water over the edge of the tub and onto the floor as she sits up abruptly.  For once she isn’t breathless, though her heart is still beating fast. She quickly scrambles to get out of the bath, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around herself in a hurry to go hunt down her clothes.

* * *

The first thing Flynn sees as he enters the garage is the Lifeboat at the far end.  Despite the size of the garage, the ship is nearly touching the ceiling, and looks strangely massive in the space.  His eyes drift down to Jiya, across the room on her laptop with her feet resting on a table, smirking in his direction.  Thankfully, neither Rufus nor Connor notice him initially, still too wrapped up in their work, and so he heads right for Jiya instead.

“Dare I ask what that look is for?” he says quietly, not looking at her as he takes a seat in the chair next to her.

“Having a fun morning?” she whispers back, her smirk turning into a wicked grin.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“It isn’t?  Because from where I’m sitting it really looks like you and Lucy are A Thing.”

He finally looks over at her.  “Me and Lucy are...I don’t know.  But until I figure out the answer to that, I’d really prefer if the whole peanut gallery wasn’t gossiping about it. So if you wouldn’t mind keeping whatever it is you think you know to yourself, I would appreciate it.”

Her grin is only getting wider.  “Sure, sure. I get it. But if you think I’m not grilling Lucy about this the first chance I get-”

“Jiya.”

“Flynn, seriously, it’s okay.  I’m kidding.” The grin softens into a genuine smile.  “Actually, I’m happy to see you both cheerful for once.  You’ve kind of been under a moody cloud for weeks now, both of you.  Anything that helps Lucy get over that bullshit with Wyatt is a good thing in my books.”

Flynn faces forward once more, eyes off to the side.  Somehow the thought hadn’t occurred to him that Lucy may simply be rebounding.  The idea of it makes his chest feel tight, and he files it away to deal with later.  Compartmentalizing is something he is more than used to doing at this point.

“So what’s this about a sitrep?” he calls over to Connor and Rufus, who finally notice he’s there.

“Oh, Flynn, you’re finally here.”  Connor lifts a laptop in one hand and heads toward him.  “Denise will be here this afternoon and she wants a quick rundown of where we’re at, and you’re our lucky soldier who gets to do it.  I thought I’d give you the layman's explanation from our end. Here, you can use my spare laptop.”

Flynn takes it from him and glances around.  “A desk would be helpful.”

“Of course, take mine, I need to sit with Rufus anyway.”  Connor gestures vaguely in the direction he’d come from as he heads toward his protege.  “And if you get a minute, some help with researching Rittenhouse-owned properties would be helpful, though I’m not sure how much you’ll find on the internet, they have a tendency to cover their tracks well.”

“I can do a quick scan on the dark web,” Flynn answers as he seats himself at Connor’s desk, and he only looks up once he notices the ensuing silence in the wake of his words.  Every person in the room is staring at him in shock. “None of you know anything about me, do you?”

“We, uh-...”

“I did data analysis and decryption in a previous life.  I’m not an idiot, nor am I only useful for muscle and intel, despite what you might think.”

“Didn’t think that for a second, buddy,” Rufus replies, quickly shaking off his surprise and returning to his task.  “Godspeed.”

They work in relative silence for some time, Connor zipping between Flynn and Rufus’s workstations to multitask.  The software is up and running at near-full capacity (as close as it will get) and Rufus is busy finding a backdoor past NSA server firewalls, and they all jump as Flynn slams a hand on his desk in triumph, grinning.

“Found a list.”

Connor is at his side in seconds.  “How-...?”

“These aren’t necessarily Rittenhouse hideouts, but they are owned properties.”  He coughs. “All...350 of them.”

“Dear lord, that will take ages to sort through.  Still, it gives us a starting point. Once Rufus is finished, we can run the recognition programs in relation to each address, see what we can find.”  Connor regards Flynn, deeply impressed. “I have to say, this is a side of you that is wholly unexpected. Why didn’t you mention sooner?”

Flynn shrugs.  “No one cared to ask, I saw no reason to bring it up.  And I vastly prefer reading books to screens, I’m hardly going to volunteer for extra work.”

“You are an interesting man, Mr. Flynn.  One of these days I’m going to sit you down with a bottle of whiskey and get your story.”

Jiya watches this whole exchange quietly from her perch at the side of the room, smiling at the expression on Flynn’s face, discomfort at the attention and praise mixed with pleasure that for once he isn’t the most loathed man in the room.  She has to admit, he’s even growing on her as well. Turned out the man was tolerable - enjoyable to be around, even - when he wasn’t being a violent, sarcastic asshole. She wonders just how much of this is how Flynn has always been, and how much of it is thanks to Lucy’s influence.

As if on cue, the woman in question appears in the doorway, now fully dressed in her own clothes but with her wet hair tied back in a high ponytail, far more sleek and tidy than her nightmare hair that morning.  But despite being bathed and dressed, she still looks worried and frantic, which to be fair had mostly been Lucy’s default state for the past few weeks. She clearly realizes how she’s coming across as well, as she takes a slow breath and plasters a bright smile on her face.

“How is the hunt going?” she asks as she fully enters the room, her voice a bit too cheerful, not going straight to Flynn as Jiya half expected.  Instead, she drifts over to sit next to Rufus, glancing at his screen briefly before deciding it’s all gibberish to her.

Connor gives her a quick rundown of where they’re at.  “I”m not sure how quickly the cross-reference of the 350 properties with the gait and facial recognition will go, but we shall persevere.”

Lucy clears her throat.  “I, uh, I can probably help narrow it down a bit.”

Connor looks at her suspiciously.  “How, exactly?”

“Remove any properties that aren’t office buildings.”

“Okay, Lucy, I know you’re a brilliant researcher and all that,” Rufus says, turning to her, “but seriously, how the _hell_ do you know that?”

“Please, just trust me.”

Connor shrugs.  “Fine then. We shouldn’t need NSA servers to gather that information.  Jiya, could you run Flynn’s helpful list through a filter that cross-references with satellite mapping to remove the...non-office buildings.”

“On it.”

Lucy stands to give Rufus space to work and wanders over to Connor, who is looking at his team with pride.  It’s the most engaged he’s been in ages, looking closer to the dynamo who got Mason Industries off the ground than the bankrupt drunk that came after it all quite literally blew up in his face.  She stands next to him and leans in. “Did you say ‘Flynn’s list’?”

“Oh, of course, you weren’t here yet.  Our friend over there has been hiding some particularly helpful skills; he found a list of Rittenhouse owned properties.”  Lucy’s eyebrow arches as she looks over at Flynn, surprised. “I’m assuming you also had no idea he was handy with a computer?”

“No idea at all.”  She smiles thinly at Connor, then finally goes to sit next to Flynn, whose fingers are surprisingly deft on the keyboard as he drafts Denise’s requested sitrep. She leans against his shoulder to look at his screen.  Most of it is military lingo and abbreviations that she doesn’t recognize, but she isn’t particularly interested in it anyway; the gesture is more about the appearance of nonchalance as she speaks quietly to him. “Looks like I don’t know all of your secrets yet.”

“Looks that way,” he responds quietly, not looking up, clearly on autopilot with his task.  “Did you have another vision?”

“Yes and no.”

This does make him pause for a millisecond.  “What does that mean?”

“I figured out how to...force one, I guess.”

He pushes himself back from the laptop and turns to face her finally, concerned.  “Are you okay?”

Lucy sets a reassuring hand on his arm.  “I’m fine, Garcia, don’t worry. It was...bizarre.  Like I was a ghost. Nobody knew I was there, but I could see and feel things around me.  And it was longer than usual. It felt like only a few minutes but apparently I was in the bath for an hour.”

“And that’s where you got the idea to focus on office buildings?”

“Wyatt’s being held in one.  I don’t know if it’s fully Rittenhouse owned, or a safe house, or what, but he’s there.  Safe at the moment. Locked up, but safe. Thank god.”

Flynn nods shortly and turns back to his laptop.  The moment she mentioned Wyatt, something passed over his face that Lucy can’t quite figure out.  She sets a hand on his leg beneath the desk, out of sight of the others - and he tenses.

“Garcia, is something-”

“And we’re in!” Rufus shouts, punching the air in triumph.  “What would you all do without me, huh?”

“Work a lot slower to achieve the same results,” Jiya says as she comes to his side, pinching him on the shoulder.  “Keep that ego in check, buddy.”

“Aye aye, ma’am.  Ready to run the recognition program now.  Do you have the list narrowed down?”

“Sure do.  There are a whopping 160 office buildings in Rittenhouse’s portfolio.  Including, believe it or not, the Chrysler building.”

Rufus turns to look at her.  “You’ve gotta be joking.”

“Nope.”

“It’s not that shocking,” Flynn calls, interrupting them.  “Walter Chrysler was heavily involved with Rittenhouse in the early 20th century; he was rumored to be a Freemason, but that was essentially a cover story.  Hell, there’s a reference to the Spirit of St. Louis right in the lobby, and we all know what a hero Lindbergh ended up being to their cause.”

Rufus shrugs.  “I really shouldn’t be surprised at this point.  I’ll run gait and facial recognition for Wyatt, then.”  After several minutes of tense silence as the program runs, Rufus sits back in his seat, arms crossed, staring at the monitor.  “Huh.”

“What does ‘huh’ mean?” Flynn asks, his voice terse, again earning a confused look from Lucy from the corner of her eye.

“Came up with nothing.  Period, full stop. He doesn’t currently exist, anywhere.”

Lucy stands, deciding it’s in her best interest to give Flynn space, at least until she can suss out what exactly is going on with him.  She crosses around the desks to come to Rufus’s side. “If they landed the Mothership indoors, there’s a chance he hasn’t been seen in public since they caught him.”

“Great,” Jiya says, sighing.  “Now what?”

Lucy stares at the screen for a moment, thinking, then snaps her fingers.  “Jessica.” She turns to Rufus. “Wyatt may not have left the building for CCTV to pick up on, but I bet you anything Jessica has.  Run the program mapped to her instead.”

Rufus complies, and within minutes they have 5 matches.  “Still need to narrow it down further, but that’s a helluva lot better than 160.”

“Can we run recognition on all of the main players in Rittenhouse?” Lucy asks.  “Nicholas Keynes, my mother-”

“Gabriel Thompkins,” Flynn cuts in, and Lucy looks his way, only to find he isn’t meeting her eyes.

“-yes, Gabriel as well.  And Emma Whitmore.”

This earns her a look of confusion from most of the room.  

“Lucy, you are aware we haven’t seen Emma Whitmore since 1954?” Connor asks.

“What?”

“If Wyatt’s debrief of that incident was accurate, our friend over there-”  He nods at Flynn. “-dispatched her quickly with a hunting knife. A story you confirmed, actually.”

She shakes her head.  “Different Lucy. I knew she was stabbed, but...she’s dead, then?”  She can’t help the satisfaction she feels at the thought of Emma being permanently out of her life.

“We’ve assumed as much.  We haven’t heard so much as a whisper about her since then.”

Lucy and Flynn finally lock eyes for a moment.  “But who’s been piloting the Mothership, then?”

Connor shrugs.  “I have no idea.  It certainly isn’t outside the realm of possibility that they were able to train a new pilot, or somehow slap together an autopilot function, seeing as we were able to add one after the fact.  Was Emma still around in your original timeline?”

“She became the de facto leader of Rittenhouse shortly before I left.  Does that mean they’ve been without a pilot since she disappeared?”

“Clearly not, otherwise we’d have seen all Mothership activity cease after that particular jump, which obviously has not been the case.”

Lucy looks grave, but shakes her head.  “We have to assume they’ve had another pilot, then.  But regardless - it’s a safe bet that we’ll be able to track my mother or Nicholas Keynes.”

“I’ll run recognition then.  This may take a while, I’ll need to assemble a profile for each of them from previous CCTV footage, and I’ll have to find that footage first.  No point in all of you sitting here watching.” Rufus inclines his head to look over his shoulder at Jiya behind him. “Your company is, of course, always welcome.”

“Well, too bad, because this girl desperately needs a shower.”  Jiya gets up and kisses Rufus’s cheek, then heads toward the door to the main house.  Lucy is quick to rush after her, catching up just as she’s closing the door to the garage behind her.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” Lucy says, grabbing Jiya by the arm to stop her.

“What’s up?”

“Did something happen today, before I came down to the garage?”

“What do you mean?”

Lucy looks back at the door they’d just come through.  “Something was off with Flynn.”

Jiya shrugs.  “Not that I know of.  He soaked up a bunch of praise from Connor and seemed happy about that, as far as I could tell; he’s not the easiest guy to get a read on, of course.  What made you think he was off?”

Lucy shakes her head.  “Never mind. I must be imagining things.  Sorry.”

Jiya gives her a curious look, then squeezes her shoulder.  “Lucy, try not to overthink everything. I know you felt like shit after everything with Wyatt happened, but that doesn’t mean every guy is going to ditch you.”

“It would help if I’d stop getting involved with widowed men who can time travel.”  

Jiya grins. “At least you can talk about how your day at work went? I, for one, appreciate having a time-traveling boyfriend who I don’t have to hide things from, highly recommend it.  Think about how shitty it was lying to Noah.”

Lucy groans.  “Please don’t remind me of Noah.”

“Man, if that guy was suspicious of you and Wyatt, can you imagine his face if he found out you were involved with an older man who has a violent streak?”

Lucy laughs.  “I’d almost pay to see that.”  She shakes her head. “Go have your shower, sorry I bothered you.”

Jiya shakes her head.  “You’re never bothering me, Lucy, and you definitely don’t have to shoulder all of this crap on your own.  We’re friends, I’m always here to listen. Even if it’s about certain tall, dark and glowering men.”

Lucy smiles. “Thanks, Jiya.”

* * *

Denise arrives later in the day, shortly after Rufus has finished narrowing down their results and identified the likely location that Rittenhouse is holding Wyatt, and they opt to meet as a group in the sitting room.  A photo of the building is passed around, and upon reaching Lucy, her eyes widen. The photo shows the building she’d encountered in her vision, every detail exactly the same.

“This is definitely it.”  She hands the photo to Denise, who is standing and pacing as usual.

“Do we have any information on the location, tenants, blueprints?” Denise asks, addressing Rufus.

“Blueprints, no.  We couldn’t track those down anywhere. My guess is Rittenhouse is careful not to store them electronically.  Tenants, just a bunch of shell corporations, which probably just means various branches of Rittenhouse. I think it’s safe to assume the whole building consists of Rittenhouse, really.  As for location, it’s in New York.”

Flynn’s head snaps up.  “What?”

Rufus repeats, slower, “New York.”  He glances at Jiya, who shrugs, then back at Flynn.  “That shocks you? It’s the epicenter of the business world in North America.”

“Flynn?”  Denise raises an eyebrow.  “Is there something we should know?”

He shrugs, his mouth set in a thin line.  “New York is where I lived...before. With my family.  I always expected Rittenhouse had some form of headquarters there, but it’s starting to sound like they owned half the city.  No wonder they could carry out covert ops with zero law enforcement or media attention.”

The group is silent, unsure what to say.  Lucy also says nothing, instead resting a hand on his, and Flynn leans back into the corner of the couch and shifts slightly so as to pull away from Lucy.  It’s so subtle that only she notices, and she can’t help but feel a pang of hurt and confusion _._

“We won’t have any backup on this from law enforcement.  It’ll be just us.”

“Exactly one of the team has combat experience,” Flynn points out.  “Not that Lucy and Rufus haven’t fired a gun or two, but if things get ugly and weapons are off the table...I can hold off a fair amount of men, but I’m not a walking army.”

“Agreed.  Which is why I’ll be joining this one.”  Much of the group immediately starts to protest, concerned, and Denise raises a hand to silence them.  “I have combat experience, I have firearms experience, and I’ve been on a few covert ops back in the day.  I’m not a huge fan of any of it and I’ve been out of it long enough that I’m sure I’m rusty, not to mention my wife will kill me, but Flynn is right.  Send him in solo and you’ll all end up captured or killed.”

“What’s the plan then?” Lucy asks.  “How do we get in?”

“I have an idea for that,” Denise says, “and you’re going to hate it.”

A few minutes later, Denise having finished explaining her plan, Lucy nods.  “You’re right. I hate it.”

“It’s the easiest way to get everyone into the building and will provide cover for the rest of us.  They’ll be focused on you.”

“Yeah, focused on throwing me in a cell next to Wyatt.”

“We won’t let that happen.  And besides, they’ll be overjoyed to see you, I’m sure.”

She clearly isn’t happy about it, but Lucy nods all the same.  “Fine. It’s worth a shot. What are the rest of you doing to get in, then?”

“Disguises.  We need to blend in.”

“I don’t exactly own a ton of suits,” Rufus points out, gesturing at his Star Wars shirt.

“I assumed as much.  Which is why I’ll be doing a supply run into the city before we set out.  I’m assuming most of you have the same problem.”

Flynn nods.  “For once I wouldn’t mind actually fitting the clothes I’m wearing in the field.”

“Flynn, I need you to gather weapons and make sure they’re all in working order.  Rufus, Connor, and Jiya, make sure the Lifeboat is fully charged and ready to go and gather the field radio equipment.  Lucy, you’re off the hook, but I suggest you rehearse what you’re going to say. And all of you, get a good rest. We leave in the morning.”

The team disperses quickly, Flynn being the first one out of his seat.  Lucy reaches for his arm as he passes and he ignores the brush of her fingers as she misses, heading directly for the stairs.  Her hurt turns to anger and she comes close to yelling after him, but doesn’t particularly feel like having this discussion in front of the whole team.  Instead, she follows him up the stairs calmly, reaching the upper landing just as Flynn disappears into his own room.

Now seething, Lucy marches over to the door and flings it open without knocking, closing it behind her just hard enough to make a point.  Flynn quickly turns as he hears the door slam.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”  She strides toward him, glaring, and the moment he tries to turn away she grabs his arm tightly and yanks him back.  “You’ve done a total 180 in the last few hours and if this is what I have to look forward to being…” She searches for the right word.  “...involved with you, then we should end this now.” Some of the hurt she’s feeling overtakes the anger as she adds, her voice lowering, “Is this about your wife?”

Flynn looks at her, shocked.  “What? Why would-?”

“Because I don’t know what changed, Garcia, and I’ve been here before.  I can’t do this again.”

He tugs his arm away from her grip, turns away slightly but doesn’t leave.  She can tell he’s gathering his thoughts before responding. Finally, he turns back to her, arms crossed.  “What is this?”

“What is what?”

“This.”  He gestures between the two of them.  

She softens somewhat.  “Garcia, where is this coming from?  This morning you were calm and happy, a few hours went by and suddenly-”

“Let me be more specific,” he says, cutting her off.  “Am I your rebound from Wyatt?”

Her mouth closes abruptly.  The mixture of hurt and anger flares again, clearly visible on her face.  “...what?”

“You heard me.  If we get him back from Rittenhouse, will you and he-”

“No, Flynn.”  She feels a stab of betrayal that he’d even consider the scenario he has in his head.  “Wyatt is my friend. We’ve moved past all that. And the fact that you would insinuate that I’m just...using you to get over him-”

“That’s not what-”

“No, that is _exactly_ what you’re saying.  You’re saying that now that Jessica is out of the picture, I’ll suddenly jump at the chance to be his backup plan.  And if that’s what you think, you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

Flynn looks as if he’s been slapped.  “You need to understand, since I lost my family, I haven’t-”

“No, _you_ need to understand.”  She can feel the tears burning behind her eyes and pushes them away.  “It isn’t easy for me to trust in people who care about me. Not anymore.  I’ve been rejected by everyone, even my own parents. I’ve already had one man with a dead wife break my heart.  You and I have been through so much together, I thought…” She looks away. “I don’t know what I thought. That I could trust you not to do that to me, I guess.  That at least with you, I felt safe.”

“Lucy…”  He steps toward her, and she moves back out of his reach.  “I didn’t mean-”

She shakes her head.  “I need some time to think, Flynn.”  He winces as she uses his surname for a second time, clearly distancing herself.  “And obviously you do too.” She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, instead heading directly for her own room.  Flynn is standing in the hall, intending to follow, when he hears the distinct _click_ of Lucy turning the lock on her door, and he sighs, punching the door jam in frustration as he goes back into his own room and slams the door behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

Lucy is really, really not a fan of this plan.

She’s been staring at her reflection in the glass of the revolving door, frozen in place and taking deep breaths in an attempt to will herself forward, for the past 10 minutes.  The rest of the team had gone inside 20 or 30 minutes prior, staggered so as not to draw any attention while they attempted to blend in with the crowd. She’d watched the seconds ticking by on her watch, growing increasingly nervous, dreading the entire thing, and the last 10 minutes had been a valiant effort to pep talk herself into jumping into the lion’s den headfirst.

With a final breath in and out to calm herself, Lucy steps forward into the revolving door.  It takes immense willpower for her to force herself onward toward the security desk, feet heavy with every step.  She can see she’s catching eyes now - not many, but a few people are looking at her curiously, no real recognition on their faces but wondering where they might know her from.  She glances casually around the lobby, searching for cameras, but finds none visible. This doesn’t mean much, as she can almost guarantee Rittenhouse has some sort of internal security system monitoring every inch of the building, and she’s sure alarm bells have no doubt started ringing somewhere.

From the corner of her eye, she finally spots Flynn and Denise, and the sight of them calms her considerably.  Flynn is seated in a small lounge area with a laptop and a coffee in front of him, while Denise hovers closer to the elevators, giving a fantastic performance of a heated phone call that Lucy knows isn’t real.  Both are almost unrecognizable in their disguises, which she supposes is the point. Denise has her hair elaborately curled, distracting from her face, and is wearing glasses with her makeup done to the nines, looking closer to a corporate lawyer than a federal agent.  Flynn looks far less intimidating, decked out in the universal IT support uniform of a button up shirt and tan slacks, also with his own pair of glasses (they were going the Clark Kent route for this operation, apparently - she knows it serves a functional purpose, the arms of the glasses storing surreptitious radios, but this doesn’t make it any less ridiculous).  He even has a laptop bag to round out the look, which Lucy assumes contains weapons of some kind. Ideally, she’d have liked to remain in radio contact with the whole team as well, but Denise had nixed it, worrying that Rittenhouse finding a radio on her would blow the whole operation. Instead, she’d assured Lucy that either herself or Flynn would have eyes on her location whenever possible, ready to jump in if anything went wrong.

Lucy stops in front of the security desk, forcing a smile.  “Hello.”

The security guard seated there glances up at her, again with an expression of vague recognition.  “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.  I’m looking for my mother.  I don’t have an appointment, but-”

“Who’s your mother?”

“Oh, sorry.  Carol Preston.”

The guard blanches as he realizes why she seems so familiar.  He glances off to the side and his hand moves ever so slightly beneath the edge of his desk, and shortly thereafter she is acutely aware of two large guards coming to stand behind her, one on each side, not making contact but sending a clear message - nowhere to go but forward.

“You’ll have to give me a moment, ma’am.  I’ll call and check if Ms. Preston is available.”

“You do that.”

She stands awkwardly in silence, trying to look nonchalant as she waits and forcing another smile as the guard returns his attention to her.  He doesn’t return the smile, doesn’t even look at her, instead addressing the two guards behind her. “Take her to the 12th floor. Reception room.”

Lucy jumps as she feels the two guards grip her by the arms, one on each side as they usher her toward the elevators.  She’s drawing far more eyes now, which she supposes is the whole point of this ruse, but it doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable for her.  Only as the elevator doors are closing in front of her does she see Flynn’s face for a split second, standing on the elevator opposite and making eye contact.  She cracks a half smile at him as the doors finish closing, leaving her alone with her guards once more.

“Are two of you really necessary?” she asks over her shoulder, and as expected gets no response.

Upon reaching the 12th floor, the doors slide open.  Flynn’s elevator hasn’t caught up quite yet, and Lucy feigns tripping as she leaves the elevator, putting a steadying hand against the wall as she pauses to put her high heel back on.  She glances at the other elevator briefly as she does, willing it to catch up.

“Hurry up,” one of the guards snaps, shoving her roughly.  She shoots him a glare, eyes shifting briefly to the still-closed doors of Flynn’s elevator, before she sighs and continues on, one guard now in front to lead the way while the other ensures she stays on track.  She can only hope and pray that Flynn or Denise catch up in time to see where she’s being led to.

They deposit her in an empty library, ordering her to stay put, and lock the doors behind them as they leave.  The room is left in utter silence, broken only by the sound of her shoes clicking on the marble floor as she crosses to the windows.  She looks out over the plaza below, the blue sky and bright sun mocking the seriousness of her current situation, and she’s painfully aware that Wyatt is only twelve floors above her, in god knows what shape.  She’s also painfully aware that her mother, alive and well, is somewhere in the same building, and can’t help the nervous excitement she feels at the chance to see her again, regardless of the circumstances.

That is, assuming Nicholas Keynes doesn’t just opt to shoot her instead.

Right on cue, the doors open behind her, and she spins just in time to see Nicholas enter, followed closely by what seems to be a bodyguard, a tall man that she immediately recognizes.

_Gabriel._

“Lucy!  What a surprise!”  Nicholas grins widely, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.  “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Lucy swallows nervously, forcing yet another smile.  “As nice as it is to see my great-grandfather again, I was hoping to see my mother.”

Nicholas meanders along the perimeter of the room with his hands in his pockets, cool and collected, while Gabriel hovers near the door, saying nothing but watching both of them at all times with cold eyes that leave her unsettled.  Lucy avoids him entirely, focusing on Nicholas instead.

“I’m aware of that.  But before that happens, we need to know why you’re here.  Tea?”

“Oh, uh.”  She shakes her head, taken aback.  “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”  Now standing beside an ornate antique sideboard across the room, he pours himself a cup before turning back to her, waiting expectantly for her to speak.

“Why didn’t my mother come to meet me?”

Nicholas smiles thinly.  “Carol is indisposed at the moment.  But tell you what - you tell me why you’re here, and we’ll take you right to her.  Sound like a deal?”

Bristling at the condescension in his tone, she gives him a short nod.  “Fine. I’m here to…” She pauses, searching for the right word. “...join up, I guess.”

“I’m sorry?”  He sips from his cup, eyebrow raised and not looking away from Lucy.  “Join up?”

“Yes.  Rittenhouse.  I’m here to join.”

Nicholas snorts, sharing a look with Gabriel for a moment that screams _Yeah, right_.  “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical, Lucy.  You’ve spent the past two years causing trouble for us and getting in the way, and suddenly you’re here saying you want to get a foot in the family business?  Why on earth should I buy that?”

Clenching her teeth, she has to will herself to stay calm.  “Why else would I be here, alone and in the open?”

“I can certainly think of one reason, sitting in a cell somewhere above us.”

“Wyatt, you mean?  You’ve made the mistake of thinking I give a damn what happens to him.” She hopes her words are coming across genuine.  “After what he did to me, you can shoot the son of a bitch for all I care.”

Nicholas smirks, nodding in approval.  “I like this side of you, Lucy. Maybe we’ll let you have the honors.”

It’s incredibly difficult for her to force a smile, but she manages it all the same.  “Love to. Point me the way?”

He chuckles.  “Maybe later. I suppose there’s no harm in letting you say hello to your mother now, not much you can do at this point even if you are lying.  Gabriel, would you mind escorting Ms. Preston here to Carol’s suite?” Gabriel gives him a short nod and turns his attention to Lucy, and Nicholas quickly adds, “And make sure she isn’t wearing a radio, please.”

Lucy stands patiently with her arms out to the sides as Gabriel pats her down, never once looking directly at her and not being particularly gentle through the whole process.  He even goes so far as to grip her head and tilt it roughly in each direction to ensure she doesn’t have a concealed earbud. Satisfied that she’s come with nothing more than the clothes on her back, he nods at Nicholas and then gestures for Lucy to follow him.  She trails along behind him, casting one more look back at her great-grandfather as she leaves.

The bastard is still grinning.

Gabriel leads them to the elevators, presses the up arrow and stands waiting with his hands clasped in front of him.  Lucy takes the opportunity to look him over while his attention is elsewhere. She can see the definite resemblance he has to Flynn, with the same dark hair and green eyes, and although he’s a fraction shorter than his younger brother, he’s no less built.  He looks like a man who’s spent half his life fighting, and for all she knows, this twisted Rittenhouse version of Gabriel might have.

“Do you even recognize him?” Lucy asks, and Gabriel takes a second to turn his head and acknowledge her.

“Recognize who?”

It’s jarring, how similar his voice is to Flynn’s (minus, of course, the distinctive Croatian accent).

“Garcia.”

Gabriel snorts quietly and turns back to the elevator.  “I’ve known that face since I was 6 years old.”

Lucy goes silent once more.  She had somehow naïvely assumed that Gabriel had been blindly following orders, that he would never have attacked Flynn had he realized the truth. Evidently, she was wrong.

“And you tried to kill him regardless?”

The elevator arrives with a quiet _ding_ and Gabriel waits for Lucy to go first before he follows.  He presses a security pass to an access panel and presses 18, then steps back to stand directly beside her, hands once more clasped in front of him.

“So are your parents involved in Rittenhouse as well?”

He looks down at her, his eyes still cold.  “My parents are dead.”

“I’m sure your mother would be very proud.”

This gets his full attention; he turns, fist clenched, taking a half step toward her, and Lucy instinctively backs away.  Judging by the way he’s looking at her, she’s a few seconds away from a fist to her jaw, and it occurs to her that it may not be the best idea to antagonize her armed guard while trapped in a confined space.  Thankfully, the doors open before Gabriel can actually do anything, and he immediately exits, waiting for her to follow.

The 18th floor looks vastly different from the 12th, with lower lighting and strangely familiar decor; if she didn’t know better, she’d think she was standing in the hall of her mother’s home.  Gabriel leads her forward, past various closed doors, until they reach a door at the end. He steps aside.

“Through there.”

Lucy looks at him, wary, then takes a breath and turns the knob.

And stops.

“Oh my god.”

“...Lucy?”

* * *

Rufus considers himself incredibly lucky that he’s made it this far without drawing attention; he’d thought a two-piece pinstripe suit was a bit much, that he’d definitely stand out, until he discovered that half the Rittenhouse employees (or should it be cultists?) were decked out in suits that made his look downright shabby.  It also didn’t help him blend in that he kept having to tug on the crotch of his pants while no one was looking, as Denise had definitely misjudged his size.

He’d managed to find an empty office a few floors up (after discovering the elevator wouldn’t go any higher than the 13th floor without a security pass, something he could likely work around if there weren’t a constant stream of people coming and going), and it is stupidly good luck that the office also happens to have a computer connected to the main network.

“Muscle 1 and 2, this is Tony Stark, please respond.”

_“Rufus, we’re not doing codenames.”_

_“Not muscle 1 and 2, anyway.”_

“See, Denise?  Flynn’s into it.”  He can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose as she heaves a sigh, and grins.  “Anyway, not the point. I’ve accessed the first layer of their servers.”

_“Any idea where the Mothership is?”_

“Not yet.  Working on it.”  He goes abruptly silent as a shadow passes by the frosted glass door and waits for the footsteps fade.  “I’m assuming that particular information is several layers down, so I’m here for a few more minutes at least.  Can I also once again officially state for the record how much I dislike not having someone watching my back while I do this?”

 _“Bitch about me when I’m around, miss me when I’m gone._ ”

“Hey, for the record, it’s mostly Wyatt who complains about you.”  He pauses. “Maybe Connor a little. Jiya’s a fan, for some reason.”

_“Well, at least one of you two is smart.”_

“Hey, I was solving Maxwell’s equations at 16.  What were you doing at that age?”

_“Mandatory army service.”_

“Huh.  Why does that not surprise me?  I guess we all have our strengths.”

_“Gentlemen, could we please maintain comms silence if not discussing strategy?”_

“This is why we don’t bring you on missions.”

_“Good thing this is the last time I volunteer to come along.”_

Rufus grins, still typing rapidly.  “Just wait. You’ll miss it.”

A few floors below, Flynn is struggling to track down Lucy, though he’s managed to come across Denise twice already.  He’s been working his way up as he sweeps each floor, occasionally crouching near an ethernet port or leaning over an unattended computer in an effort to maintain his cover.  His completely ridiculous cover, that he’s not sure he’s ever going to forgive Denise for foisting upon him.

“Denise, any sign of her?”

_“Just caught sight of her on 12, getting on the elevator again.  Going up, I think. I tried to follow but it would appear a security pass is necessary to go any higher.  Either way, she seems safe for the time being, only one escort now, and he’s keeping distance from her. We, however, need to get our asses in gear and find Wyatt.”_

Flynn hesitates.  Every part of him wants to volunteer to monitor Lucy instead, regardless of their fight the previous night.  He isn’t even sure where they stand at this point - she’d avoided him all morning, had been incredibly quiet right up until he’d left - but he knows, at least on his part, exactly how he feels when it comes to her.

Wandering through a field of cubicles, he happens to spot someone leaving their desk with an empty coffee cup in hand, conveniently forgetting to take their security pass with them.  He meanders over the now empty desk as casually as possible, feigning examining the PC. Not looking up from the monitor, he palms the security pass and slips it into his pocket, then straightens and quickly makes his way back toward the elevator before the man can return.

“Rufus, you any good with RFID chips?”

_“Depends.  Maybe?”_

“I found a pass.  I need to make sure it has the correct clearance level before I try using it.  Last thing we need is to set off alarms.”

_“Gotcha.  Meet me at the security office.  10th floor.”_

Both men arrive at the office at roughly the same time, and Flynn slows his pace slightly, ignores Rufus entirely to avoid any suspicion that they’re together.  Rufus, thankfully, realizes what he’s doing and also staunchly ignores Flynn as he pulls open the door to the security office. Only one guard is inside, whose head snaps up immediately in response to the intrusion.  “Sir, you can’t be in here.”

“Well, this definitely isn’t the men’s room.  Leave it to Karen to screw with the new guy. Could you point me the right way?”

Sighing, the guard follows Rufus back out of the room, deeply unimpressed but not particularly suspicious, and as he steps through the doorway Flynn quickly grabs him from behind in a headlock and drags him back into the office, tightening his hold as he goes until the man finally stops fighting him and goes limp.  He deposits him in the corner, removing his security pass as well, and hands both to Rufus. “What now?”

“Security usually programs the passes in most offices - granted, there’s a chance evil cults don’t follow the same trend - and I’m guessing there will be a card reader somewhere in….ah ha!  We’re in business.” He seats himself in front of the wall of monitors and pulls the small card reader closer, slots one of the badges into it and turns his attention to the keyboard in front of him.  Flynn watches patiently as the monitor fills with lines of code far outside his area of expertise. “The pass you found only grants access up to floor 18 - easily rectified.” A few seconds later a light on the card reader blinks green, and Rufus swaps it out for the second pass, handing the first over his shoulder for Flynn to take.  “And as for the second...impressive, he had access up to 22. Guess it makes sense, seeing as he’s security. Let's make that 24 instead, shall we?”

Once both passes are reprogrammed, Flynn tucks them into his breast pocket.  “I’ll rendezvous with Denise, see if we can’t track down that walking pain in the ass.”

“I believe it’s pronounced ‘Wyatt’.”

_“You’re on 10?  I’ll meet you at the east stairwell, I’m on 9 at the moment.”_

“You good here, Rufus?”

“I’ll stick around and finish tracking down the Mothership from here; this is probably a better setup for it anyway, might have more access - what about that guy?”  Rufus nods toward the unconscious guard. “He waking up any time soon?”

“Might as well ensure he doesn’t.”

Rufus immediately turns.  “Wait wait wait, Flynn, don’t-”

Flynn ignores Rufus’s protests and steps on the guard’s back with one foot, leans down to grab his head with both hands, and snaps his neck in one smooth movement.  Rufus shudders as he hears the telltale _crack_.

“Jesus, Flynn, was that really necessary?  Poor guy was just doing his job.”

“Yes, except he works for Rittenhouse.  As far as I’m concerned, every person in this building can go to hell.”

Rufus considers this, then shrugs, conceding.  “Yeah, actually, that’s a valid point. Just, maybe no more breaking necks in front of me, please?”

“Scout’s honor.  You still have the gun I gave you earlier?”

Rufus holds one side of his blazer open to display the gun currently resting in a shoulder holster and nods.  “You?”

Flynn gives him a disappointed look, eyebrow raised, and unzips the laptop bag he’s been begrudgingly toting around the whole building.  In addition to several more clips, Flynn had managed to fit two handguns and a couple of grenades in as well. Rufus stares at it and gulps.

“Yeeeah, I’d say you’re all set.  What’s the plan once you have Wyatt?”

_“Rendezvous as fast as possible at the Mothership, once you track it down.  We can jump to the Lifeboat and have someone autopilot that back to home base as well.  If we can secure both time machines, and get Wyatt back, this war will be essentially over.”_

“Sounds great.  I’m sure everything will go perfectly to plan with absolutely no unforeseen issues arising,” Rufus says, voice dripping with sarcasm.  “I guess that means it’s up to me to retrieve Lucy en route to the Mothership, then.”

_“I have all the faith in the world in you, Rufus.”_

“At least one of us does.”

* * *

“Lucy?  What are you doing here?”

Frozen in shock, Lucy merely stares in response.  She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she walked through the door - but seeing Noah on the other side was nowhere near the top of her list.  He’s standing next to a hospital bed, still wearing his stethoscope and still in the process of listening to the patient’s breathing. Lucy’s eyes trail away from Noah and down to the figure in the bed, and she gasps, a hand covering her mouth in horror.

The patient is none other than her mother - scarf wrapped around her head, looking deathly pale and weak, an IV trailing from the back of her left hand.

Noah removes his stethoscope and slings it around his neck, steps around the bed and pulls Lucy into a brief, warm hug.  Still frozen in horrified shock, she doesn’t move, not even to return the hug. He is, after all, still essentially a stranger to her, despite what he may think to the contrary.  “God, it’s been a while, Luce. How’ve you been?”

Lucy looks back at him, finally shaking off her daze.  “Uh, fine, I’ve been...fine. When did…?” She nods toward her mother.  “Is it...is it cancer?” She hates the tremble she can hear in her own voice.

“Yeah.  She did well with surgery and chemotherapy when we found the initial lung tumor, we all thought she was in the clear, but a few months later we found out it had metastasized to her liver and lymph nodes.  Things went downhill quickly after that. She doesn’t feel much pain thanks to the morphine, but the dose she requires at this point keeps her fairly groggy. She has moments of clarity, but most of the time she’s disoriented and tired.”

Lucy pulls her attention away from her mother’s prone form for a moment to turn to Noah, and she wonders briefly if he had always been part of Rittenhouse, or whether this was just another small part of her life they had twisted to use against her.   “I didn’t know you were involved with Rittenhouse.”

He smiles.  “Your mother asked me not to say anything until she’d told you.  By the time that happened, you’d already…” He trails off and looks away, clearly still not fully over Lucy breaking off their engagement.  “Well, anyway, your father - Ben Cahill - took me under his wing when I was completing my residency. Rittenhouse opened a lot of doors for me, even paid off my loans. I was close to getting a fellowship position when Carol fell ill, and Nicholas asked me to be her in-house attending, and I never could say no to your mother.”  He looks at Carol with a warm smile. “She really is an amazing woman. She’s done so much for Rittenhouse, it’s the least we can do to give her the best care humanly possible.” He turns back to Lucy. “But I was under the impression you weren’t with Rittenhouse and had no plans to join any time soon. Change of heart?”

“Something like that,” she says, smiling weakly.  “Do you think I could maybe have a moment alone with her?”

Noah nods and squeezes her shoulder briefly.  “Take your time. I needed to go grab another bag for her IV anyway, this one is almost done.”  He pauses just as he turns the doorknob. “Oh, and Lucy….it’s really good to see you.”

Lucy nods.  “You too.” Seemingly appeased, Noah leaves, closing the door gently behind him, and her smile immediately fades.  She approaches her mother’s bedside slowly, hesitantly, feeling vaguely nauseous. “Mom?” Lucy whispers, reaching out to take her mother’s frail hand.

A few seconds pass before Carol’s eyes open slightly and she glances around disoriented, just as Noah said she’d be, before finally seeing Lucy.

“Amy…?”

The word is like a punch to the gut.  Lucy swallows heavily, tears welling in her eyes that she can’t bring herself to fight.  “No, mom, it’s Lucy.”

Carol’s lips curve in a weak smile, the sight of the familiar laugh lines around her eyes making Lucy’s heart ache.  “Sweetheart...what are you doing here?” She has to pause for breath every few words, and almost immediately after asking the question she begins to cough.  Lucy quickly retrieves an oxygen mask from the wall and slips it over her mother’s head, and the coughing spell dissipates as quickly as it came on as Carol takes slow, deep breaths behind the mask.

“You got your wish, mom.  I’ve decided to join the family business,” Lucy tells her, another weak smile on her face, the words like ashes in her mouth.  To Carol, however, they seem to be sweet as honey, a shaky grin spreading across her face.

“Lucy, that’s...so wonderful.  I knew one day you’d come to understand.  You have...such beautiful things...in store for you.”

“Shh, mom, don’t push yourself.”  She grips her mother’s hand tighter.  “I thought your cancer was gone.”

“It was...for a while.  But my loyalty was...questioned…so I was...put to the test, and…”

Lucy’s brow furrows.  “Loyalty?”

“Nicholas’s manifesto.  We all had...our parts to play.  I was asked to...give my life, in service of...the cause.”  Carol takes a deep, shuddering breath again, the effort required to speak clearly depleting her energy fast.  Lucy wipes a trail of tears from her cheek, just as more fall, her chest burning with familiar grief.

“But why?  I don’t understand.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry.  Nicholas will guide you...as he guides us all.  I had the chance to make my death mean something...to further our cause...it’s a price I pay g-gladly.”  Carol trails off, wincing as a quiet gasp of pain escapes her, and she lays still for a moment with her eyes closed until it passes.  “It brings me...so much peace...seeing you here. Knowing you’ll...be taken care of…that Rittenhouse will be in such good hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Carol squeezes her hand in return with as much strength as she can muster, the effort apparent on her face.  “Rittenhouse is blood, Lucy...you’ll inherit my seat on the council...when I’m gone. You’ll sit at...Nicholas’s right hand, where you...belong.  Your birthright. It’s everything I...dreamed for you.”

Lucy looks away, suppressing a sob that’s fighting to escape.  Everything about the situation was horrifying. Not only was her mother still fervently involved with Rittenhouse, but she was also so deeply indoctrinated that she seemed to view Nicholas as a Christ-like figure, risen from the dead to guide them all to glory.  She wonders what part of their cause her mother’s sacrifice is furthering, why her great-grandfather would ask it of his granddaughter to lay down her life in such a slow, horrible, excruciatingly painful way.

It’s starting to weigh on her, the apparent inevitability of her ending up alone no matter what she does.

“I love you mom,” Lucy whispers, her voice breaking.  Carol takes Lucy’s hand with both of hers, lifts it and places a kiss on her palm.

“I love you with all my heart, Lucy.  You have been...my greatest achievement, and I am...so, so proud of you.  I just know...you’re going to do...great things.”

Carol’s face twists in pain once more, just as the door opens and Noah re-enters with IV bags in hand.  Seeing Carol’s distress, he goes quickly to her side, retrieves a syringe of morphine from the night table drawer and injects it into her IV line.  Her pained expression fades fast, as does her lucidity, and she drifts off into a peaceful sleep once more, her hand relaxing and letting go of Lucy’s.

“Did you manage to catch her while she was awake?” Noah asks Lucy gently.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, wiping both her eyes.  Noah holds out a box of tissues, and she takes one gratefully.  “She wasn’t all there, not the whole time, but I think she said what she wanted to say.  She was happy.” There’s an awful twisting feeling in her stomach, like she’s just finished saying goodbye to her mother once more.

“Good.”  The room is silent for a beat, then Noah sighs.  “Why don’t I make you a cup of tea?”

“I couldn’t-”

“Hush.  I was going to make myself one anyway.  Jasmine, right?”

Lucy looks at him with surprise.  “How did you know?”

His smile is sad.  “I know a lot about you, Luce.  We were together for three years, I’d have to be a total asshole not to know you well after that long.”

It crosses her mind that Noah likely knows far less about her than he thinks he does.  She sympathizes with him more now, having now repeatedly gone through similar herself - thinking you know someone, then having to reconcile that with who they actually are.

Sighing, she nods.  “Okay. Tea sounds great.”

Noah holds the door open for her, following close behind, and just outside the room she finds Gabriel still waiting for her.  

“I got her from here, Gabriel.”

“Nicholas-”

“Let me worry about Nicholas,” Noah says firmly, cutting off any further protest.  Gabriel glares at him, eyes narrowed, then shrugs, turns on one heel and strides away.  Noah sighs, shaking his head. “Can’t stand that guy. Gives me the creeps.” He places a hand against the small of Lucy’s back to usher her forward.  “This way.” His hand dwells there a fraction longer than it needs to, and it twists Lucy’s stomach, her thoughts drifting to Flynn. She can’t help smiling as she follows Noah down the hall, imagining how Flynn would react to seeing her with him, especially considering she’d never once mentioned her ex-fiance to him.

Noah opens another door further down the hall from her mother’s room and they step into a kitchen that is an almost exact copy of her mother’s kitchen at home.  The similarities she’s encountered since reaching that floor have left her feeling completely disoriented, which Noah seems to have noticed, now looking back at her with concern etched on his face.  “You okay, Luce?”

“Yeah, yeah…”  She shakes her head, snapping out of it.  “Just feels weird. All of this.”

“It was pretty weird for me at first too.  I spent so much time at your mother’s house, so walking into this was a bit jarring.”  He shrugs. “Nicholas apparently felt she needed stability, but wanted her kept close, safe.  This was the end result.” He crosses to the cupboards and retrieves a teapot, also in the exact spot her mother kept it at home, and sets a kettle on the stove to boil before turning back to her.  He looks nervous and uncomfortable as he asks, “So...you, um, seeing anyone?”

 _Oh god._  She shifts uncomfortably on her feet, and Noah immediately laughs weakly.

“Sorry, that’s none of my business, you can tell me to shut up.”

“No, it’s okay.”  She smiles. “I am.  I think, anyway.”

“You think?” he repeats, curious.

“Yeah.  It’s a bit complicated at the moment, but I’m hoping I can sort it out soon.”

“Complicated, that’s always fun.  Do you want to talk about it?”

 _No, the last thing I want to do is discuss this with the ex-fiance who I barely know._  But something in Noah’s eyes as he looks at her is wearing her defenses down.  Rittenhouse or not, he’d always struck her as a kind, caring, generous person. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out, “He thinks I’m in love with someone else.”

He raises an eyebrow.  “Why’s that?”

“Also a complicated question.  I have a lot of history with a...mutual friend of ours.  He helped me pick up the pieces after a particularly painful time in my life, and we ended up...together, I guess, but he seems to think I’m just using him as a rebound.”

He pours two cups of tea and holds one out for Lucy to take.  “And are you?”

Lucy doesn’t hesitate.  “No, I’m not.” She pauses.  “Actually, if I’m being totally honest with myself, I think I…”  She trails off before she can say what’s on her mind. “Well, anyway, the point is, I do care about him.  Deeply. But he pushed me away and I got mad and we had a fight and…” She sighs. “So yeah. Complicated.”

“Seems like an easy fix.”  He smiles. “Just tell him how you feel.”

“I have.  It doesn’t get through to him.”

“Sounds like he has some self-worth issues.”

She snorts.  “That’s putting it lightly.”

“Is there any truth to the way he sees himself?”

Together they sit at the (perfect replica) kitchen table, tea in hand.  “I don’t think so. He has a bit of a checkered past, but who doesn’t? He can’t seem to forgive himself, though.”  She sighs. “I just wish he could see himself as I see him.”

“What do you see?”

Considering the question a moment, Lucy smiles warmly, looking down at the mug in her hands.  “He’s so caring. Nurturing. He’d lay down his life for those he loves. Determined as hell, no matter the obstacles, refuses to give up.  And he’s so funny. He makes me laugh, even when he isn’t trying to.”

“Sounds like a nice guy.”

“Yeah. He is.”  She shakes off the reverie and looks back at Noah.  “And you? Seeing anyone, I mean.”

“Not at the moment.  Not for your mother’s lack of trying, though.  After things ended between us, she started setting me up with all sorts of eligible young ladies she happened to know.”  He laughs. “A few potentials, but no one has caught my eye quite like you did.”

“Noah…”

“No, it’s okay, I get it.”  He shrugs. “I just wasn’t the one.  I’ve made peace with it. It’s just taken a while to get over the loss of that future I had planned.”

“I’m sorry, Noah.  I really am.”

He shakes his head.  “No need. Like I said, I’ve made peace.  But enough about that. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Lucy glances surreptitiously at the clock on the wall.  It’s been almost a full hour since she last saw Flynn, and he and Denise would likely need more time to track down and retrieve Wyatt.  She’s uncomfortable with the fact that none of her team currently has any idea where she is in the building, but at the same time, she trusts Rufus’s resourcefulness, and suspects he’s no doubt tracked down a wall of security camera monitors by now and will relay her location back to the team as necessary.

“Lots, actually,” she says, before launching into a long winded story that is entirely fictional.  

* * *

Flynn and Denise find each other in the stairwell as planned, and he hands her one of the security passes.  

“We should stay separate, at least by a few minutes,” Denise murmurs quietly, keeping out of sight of the only camera visible in the stairwell.  “Once we get up there, things will probably move fast. Lucy said there was a security desk before the detention block, so we’re looking at one, maybe two guards at least.”

“Run in guns blazing, then?”

Denise rolls her eyes.  “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, Garcia.  I was thinking more along the lines of you go first, distract them, maybe make something up about their computers needing to be looked at.  I’ll come second, and once you’re around the desk and have their full attention, we can take one each. Silent takedown, if possible.”

“You really are no fun.”

“I could be totally off base about this.  If there’s more than two, you might just get your wish, but I’m not inviting a full-blown firefight if I can help it.”  Something occurs to her then. “Rufus, is there a camera on that floor? Can you see how many guards are on the entrance?”

_“That would be nice, huh?  No, floor 24 is conspicuously absent.  I’m guessing any security feeds for that room are locked down tight and accessible on a need-to-know basis.  I could probably work around it, but it’ll take some time.”_

“Every minute we spend in this building gets us that much closer to being discovered.”  She shakes her head. “We’ll just go in blind, then, and improvise as needed.”

They make their way to the elevators, staggered slightly, and Flynn boards first, pressing his doctored pass to the access panel and hoping for the best.  Thankfully, the light flicks green with an affirmative _beep_ , and he presses a finger to floor 24.  So far so good.

The elevator crawls its way upward, and he takes a moment to quickly ensure his gun is loaded and the safety off before zipping the bag halfway closed once more.  In a show of perfect timing, the doors slide open just as he releases the zipper, and he steps out, glances around the room.

Unfortunately for him, in addition to the two security guards seated at the desk, there’s a third figure, who turns to him at the sound of the elevator arriving, eyes widening as she immediately recognizes his face.  She pulls a gun from her waistband just as the doors of the other elevator slide open, and Denise is only halfway out as Flynn drops his bag, gun now in hand. They point their weapons at each other almost simultaneously, and Denise pauses momentarily to look around the room, confused, before she sees the pistol aimed their way.

“Drop the gun, Flynn,” Jessica demands.  “You’re outnumbered.”

“Like hell I will.”

She shrugs and pulls back the hammer on her pistol.  “Your funeral.”


	15. Chapter 15

The atmosphere in the room is painfully tense as Jessica and Flynn keep their guns pointed at each other, neither moving a muscle.  The two guards at the desk were also quick to draw their weapons as soon as she did, leaving him at a definite disadvantage as Denise hadn’t had time to pull hers.  Outnumbered 3 to 1, the odds aren’t in his favor. Seeing the writing on the wall, he growls in frustration and lowers his gun, crouching to set it on the floor. He stands once more with his hands raised, eyes narrowed at Jessica.

“Smart man,” she says, and nods at the guards.  “Secure them.” Flynn keeps his eyes on Jessica as the guards approach, and something changes in her expression just as the two men turn their backs to her.  

Despite noticing this, it still shocks him thoroughly when she shifts her aim and fires two bullets into each of the guards.

“We need to hurry,” she says, springing into action immediately once the men hit the ground.  She kneels beside them and grabs one of their security passes. Flynn quickly crouches to retrieve his gun and points it her way, and Jessica ignores him entirely as she rushes back to the door and waves the badge against the access panel with a shaking hand.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Flynn mutters to no one in particular, finally lowering his weapon.

“This floor isn’t typically monitored, but it won’t be long before they realize no one is manning the desk.”  Jessica turns back to them as the door slides open, frustration evident on her face. “Are you both deaf? I said move!”

Flynn and Denise finally shake off their surprise and dash after her, Flynn retrieving his bag of weapons from the floor as he moves.  Jessica is well ahead of them already, tucking her gun back into her waistband as she jogs. They catch up just as she’s sliding the security pass through the barcode reader on the final cell door, and they spot Wyatt through the bars, sitting in the corner with his head down.  At the sound of footsteps, he looks up, stunned as he recognizes all the faces before him.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“Get up,” Jessica orders, stepping into his cell.  “We’re getting out of here.”

Wyatt looks from his wife over to Denise, who shrugs.  “We’re as surprised as you are.”

He looks back at Jessica.  “Does this mean-?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Jessica says, exasperated, slinging his arm over her shoulder and grunting with the effort of lifting him to his feet.  “But we are at a definite disadvantage in this building, and if we don’t hurry, we’re going to be pinned down.”

“Do you know where the Mothership is?” Denise asks, hopeful.

“Not specifically.  It varies. Flynn, can you…?”  She nods at Wyatt, still clearly struggling to support his weight, and Flynn quickly tucks his gun away to take Wyatt’s other arm.  The man looks like hell, with a severe limp and his face a mess of cuts and bruises. Wyatt looks up at Flynn, eyebrow raised.

“Of all the people I expected to be my knight in shining armor, you were the last on the list.”

“Wasn’t my idea.”

“Figured as much,” he replies, a wry grin on his face that immediately disappears as he stumbles and gasps in pain.

“Can you walk?” Denise asks, and Wyatt shakes his head.

“Sprain at least, if not worse.  You should have left me, gone after the Mothership instead.”

“Oh, trust me, we fully intend to do both.”  Denise takes point, gun drawn, scanning the room ahead quickly before gesturing for them to follow.  “Rufus, do you read? We have him. We need to know where we’re going.”

“They have radio signals blocked on this floor,” Jessica tells them, hitting the down button with her fist.  “Once we clear this floor you’ll be able to reach him.”

“But we have no idea where to go from here.”

“We’ll head for 18,” Jessica says quickly.  “That floor is usually quiet, and I know there are medical supplies as well; we can get you at least somewhat patched up.”

They board the elevator and Flynn lets go of Wyatt’s arm to rummage in his bag, retrieving the second pistol he’s been carrying.  He holds it out for Wyatt to take, and when the other man merely stares at it, Flynn sighs and shoves it into his waistband for him.

“Flynn, I don’t think I can even aim in this state, let alone fire the damn thing.”

“Call it a backup plan, then.”

Their radios crackle suddenly with static, and they hear Rufus’s panicked voice in their ears. _“-read me?  Flynn? Denise?  Hello? What is going on?”_

“Rufus, we have him.”  Wyatt stares at Flynn as he speaks, wondering where exactly the radio is, and Flynn taps the glasses in silent response.  “We need to know where we’re going, and quickly.”

_“Oh thank god, I was panicking.  I narrowed Lucy’s location down to somewhere on the 18th floor.  I’m heading there now.”_

“Perfect, we’re already en route.  See you shortly.” He nods at Jessica and Wyatt, the only people on the elevator not privy to the other side of the conversation.  “18th floor.”

The doors slide open to reveal Rufus standing in the hallway, looking at his watch impatiently, and he visibly relaxes as he sees them.  “Thank god.” He then notices Jessica, and a hand goes for his holstered gun. Flynn is quick to raise a hand, halting him.

“She’s with us.  Apparently.”

“And you’re _trusting her_?  She already double-crossed us once, she’s kidnapped both me and Wyatt, how much shit is this woman going to get away with before you all wise up?”

“Rufus,” Denise says calmly, “she killed two Rittenhouse guards, she knows the building layout, and we vastly outnumber her anyway.  For the time being, I trust her. We’ll deal with long-term ramifications after.”

“Lucy?” Flynn asks him impatiently, and Rufus points down the hall.

“Saw her disappear into that room on the cameras, didn’t resurface.”

“That’s the kitchen,” Jessica pipes up, adjusting her hold on Wyatt.  “The medical supplies are in another room; I can grab them while you decide where we’re going from here.”

No one looks particularly comfortable with the idea of Jessica running off alone, but Denise nods all the same.  “I’ll go with her. Flynn, you take Wyatt and Rufus and see if you can track down Lucy. If you find her, stay put until we get back.”

Flynn nods and slings Wyatt’s arm over his shoulder again so Jessica can let go.  She gestures for Denise to follow, and they disappear around a corner. Rufus has already started heading for the door to the kitchen, and just as he reaches it, Flynn hisses, “Wait.”

“Why?” Rufus whispers back.

“You take him and get back to the elevator, wait for me there.  We have no idea who or what is through that door, and right now you’re both liabilities.”

Rufus looks as if he might protest, but he instead nods and takes over supporting Wyatt.  Once they’ve disappeared back around the corner toward the elevator, Flynn whips open the door, gun held at the ready, and upon spotting her he mumbles, “What the hell?”

Across the room, seated at a table, Lucy is having tea with a man Flynn doesn’t recognize, and both of them look up as the door opens.  Her eyes reach his immediately, a smile lighting up her face, and she seems unharmed, physically or otherwise. Flynn has to resist the urge to rush over and kiss her fiercely, and it’s only occurring to him now how worried he was about her.

The man jumps to his feet quickly, grabbing Lucy’s arm and pulling her along with him, and he stands slightly in front of her, shielding her with his body, as Flynn aims his gun directly at his chest.  

“You’re not hurting her.”  Both men say it at the exact same time and look at each other in confusion.

“Are you okay?” Flynn then asks Lucy directly, ignoring the stranger standing between them.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”  She gently touches a hand to her would-be protector’s arm, and he turns to her.  “Noah, I have to go.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry Noah, but...none of this was real.”

He blinks, not quite comprehending.  “But I thought...you told your mother, you told Nicholas-”

“All these trips to the past have made me pretty good at bluffing.”  She chances a sad smile, which Noah doesn’t return. “But I wasn’t lying when I said it was good to see you.  You’re a good man, Noah, far too good to be wrapped up with the likes of Rittenhouse. I hope you break away from them before it’s too late.”

“Lucy…”  Forgetting the intruder across the room momentarily, he takes her hand.  Flynn stiffens, his jaw clenched, but he finally lowers his gun, sensing no threat (or perhaps no danger is the better way to put it, as he can definitely sense some sort of history between Lucy and whoever this guy is).  “Luce, you’re going to get yourself killed keeping this up. Rittenhouse-”

“Their days are numbered, Noah.”  She pulls her hand gently out of his grasp.  “I hope you get out before then. I truly do.  You deserve a happy life, a home, a family, all of it.”

“Just not with you,” he finishes, looking down, and Lucy nods.  “Truthfully, Lucy, I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

Flynn’s grip tightens on his gun, and he’s sure if he clenches his jaw any further he’ll break some teeth.  Lucy glances over at him briefly, and though he clearly isn’t happy about the current situation, he also doesn’t shy away from looking at her like he had the night previous.

“I have to go, Noah,” she says, giving him one more smile.  “Please take care of my mother. I know she’s in good hands with you.”

He nods, dejected, and watches as she crosses around the table to go to Flynn’s side.  Flynn immediately puts a hand to her face as she draws close. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Flynn, I’m fine.”  

From across the table, Noah looks between them, and the truth dawns on him.  “Wait. _Garcia Flynn_ is the guy you were talking about?”

Lucy sighs, turning away and pulling Flynn along with her by the arm.  “Please give us at least five minutes before you sound the alarm.”

As they leave the room, Lucy hears Noah mutter, “I’m not going to report you.”  And then, “Stay safe, Lucy.”

She casts one last smile his way, then closes the door behind her.  “What’s the plan?” she whispers, conscious of how quiet the hallway is.

“Rufus knows where the Mothership is.  We’re going to split up, half take the Mothership, half take the Lifeboat, and rendezvous back at the house.”  He checks the clip on his gun, more of a fidget than anything. “So who was your friend back there?”

“If you must know...my ex-fiance”

His head whips around.  “ _Fiance_?”

“Courtesy of time travel repercussions and nothing more, I barely know the man.  If anything, it’s your fault, since he showed up right after the Hindenburg incident.”  She starts down the hall without him, and Flynn quickly trails after her.

“And what if he reports us?”

“He’s not going to.”

“How do you know-”

Lucy stops and turns to face him.  “He has history with me that unfortunately I didn’t live through, and so while I feel sympathy for the guy - and nothing more - his perspective on our relationship was much, much different.”

“He loved you.”

“Yeah.  He did. And I walked away.”

Flynn nods, acquiescing.  “Come on, Jessica is probably back with the first aid supplies by now.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say _Jessica_?”

“Long story that we really don’t have time for right now. I’ll explain after.”

They round the corner and see the rest of their group huddled next to the elevators, Jessica just finishing dressing the worst of Wyatt’s wounds.  They hear a quiet _ding_ as the elevator arrives, and they quickly get on, Denise standing in the path of the door to hold it open and waving for Flynn and Lucy to hurry.

Just as they increase their pace, another _ding_ signals the arrival of the opposite elevator.  Flynn waves for them to go and pulls Lucy back behind the corner of the hallway, and Denise ducks into their waiting elevator, the doors sliding closed just as the doors on the newly arrived elevator open.  Flynn waits, Lucy at his side, barely breathing as he listens. They hear heavy boots taking slow steps, and Flynn chances a look around the corner only to see his brother at the end of the hall, his back turned to them.

“We need to get to the stairs,” Flynn whispers to Lucy.  The stairwell entrance is, thankfully, at their end of the hallway and out of Gabriel’s line of sight.  He pushes Lucy gently toward it, and they hurry over to the door, crouched and quiet, just as Gabriel’s footsteps start to head their direction.  They duck inside just in time, Flynn catching the door before it can slam shut and letting it close gently, and they wait as the footsteps go by. Another door opens, most likely the kitchen, and they hear voices murmuring briefly before it shuts once more.  “Move,” Flynn whispers urgently. He doesn’t have to tell her twice. Lucy slips her shoes off so as to move silently (not to mention quicker), and both of them descend the stairs as fast as they can without raising suspicion.

They make it to the 10th floor before a door opens below them, and Flynn is quick to usher Lucy out of the stairwell and into yet another hall.  He glances around, trying to get his bearings, and sees the security office he’d been in earlier with Rufus. “There.” Once Lucy is safely inside with him, he locks the door behind them and lets out a breath.

“What do we do now?” Lucy whispers as Flynn seats himself at the monitors.  He cycles through each of the feeds until he finds one for the elevators, and is able to quickly track down their group.

“Denise, Rufus, do either of you read?”  He gets only static in response. “Looks like they’re heading for the basement.  My guess is the Mothership is down there. Probably have comms jammed down there as well.”

“Is there a basement camera?”

“Doesn’t look like it.  I’m not surprised. Last thing you want is everyone in the building seeing need-to-know information like ‘We have a time machine’.”  Flynn glances over at her. “Still no alarms. Looks like your ex was telling the truth.”

Lucy rolls her eyes.  “Can we please drop Noah?”

A small smile tugs at his lips, but he says nothing.  He scans over the monitors, swapping feeds rapidly, trying to find where Gabriel ended up.

“Wait.  Go back.”

He obliges, flicking back through the feeds until Lucy raises a hand for him to stop on what appears to be a large library.  Two figures are standing in the center of the frame, the footage too blurry to make out who they are.

“Can you zoom in at all?”

“Maybe.”  After a few seconds of fiddling, he manages to find a zoom function, and closes in on the two figures.  The detail doesn’t improve much, but Lucy seems able to see something that he can’t.

“No...that can’t be.”

“Lucy?”

Without another word she rushes over to the door, unlocking it and ducking out quickly.  Flynn scrambles to catch up, and as Lucy disappears into the stairwell again she can hear him loudly hissing her name. She ignores him, heading upwards, and she hears his footsteps following up the stairs as she ducks through another door above.  She rushes down the empty hall, eyes scanning each door that she passes until she comes to a set marked RECEPTION ROOM. She stops short, hesitating for a moment before she takes a breath and pushes the doors open.

_Oh god._

The pain is overwhelming at first, fighting for dominance with her complete and utter joy.  She’s elated and horrified all at once, eyes wide, and she can barely breathe, definitely can’t move or speak, can only stare as they turn toward her.  She watches as her eyes light up, followed closely by that crooked grin that she never thought she’d see again.

“Lucy?”

It’s enough to snap her out of it.  Lucy breaks into a run, as if she’ll disappear before she reaches her, a cruel figment of her imagination, a mirage meant only to taunt her.  But she reaches her and throws her arms around her, tangible and real, and clings to her tightly.

“Amy, oh my god, I didn’t-”  She leans back and brushes her sister’s hair back, cupping her cheek.  “I never thought I’d see you again, she said...she said you were gone, that I’d never get you back.”

“Who said?”

“Emma.  She said she erased you, all trace of you.  I...I gave up hope, I didn’t-...” She lets go of her face and pulls her into a hug once more.  “I can’t believe your here,” she whispers, shutting her eyes tight.

“Lucy, I’m suffocating,” Amy laughs, and Lucy is certain she’s never heard a sweeter sound.  It takes considerable effort to let go, and she keeps one of Amy’s hands held in hers, afraid that she might disappear at any moment.

“How?  How did-...?”  It’s at that point Lucy finally processes everything else going on in the room.  Nicholas is calmly standing next to her sister, and the sight of him makes her stomach sink.  Lucy rounds on him, no longer caring to keep up the ruse. “What is going on?”

“Not sure what you mean, Lucy.”  But she can see it on his face. The smug smile.  The cold glint in his eyes. The pieces are falling into place in her head, slowly but surely, and Nicholas knows it.  He sees right through her, and probably has from the start.

“How could you?” Lucy whispers, face twisted in disgust.  “Your own granddaughter. How could you do that to her? She’s in agony.  She’s dying, slowly and painfully. You know how I know, Nicholas? Because I already watched it happen once.”

“She was more than willing to give her life for our cause,” Nicholas replies, shrugging.  “I would have thought you’d be thrilled to have your sister back, Lucy.”

“Of course I am.  But at what cost?”

Confused, Amy asks, “Grandpa, what is she talking about?”

The term of endearment makes Lucy’s blood run cold, and she takes a small step away from her sister.  “Wait. She doesn’t know?” Lucy glares at Nicholas. “You didn’t even tell her?”

Nicholas finally looks at Amy instead, his face softening somewhat.  Apparently, even he is capable of some twisted paternal instinct. “I saw no reason to burden her with that.”

“Can someone please explain to me what’s going on?”  There’s an edge to Amy’s voice as she grows more frustrated, and Lucy turns back to her.

“He traded mom for you.”

“...what?”

“You’d been erased from history.  It was different, before, and mom...she had cancer.  But things changed, and you...you were gone. You were gone, and mom was healthy again.”

“What?”  Amy glances between her sister and great-grandfather.  “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying he brought you back somehow.  You were gone, Emma said you were gone for good and I’d never get you back, but he...somehow he did it.  And he sacrificed mom to do it.”

“She did it willingly.  Gladly, even,” Nicholas interjects, now angry.  “She wasn’t forced, wasn’t coerced. She wanted her daughter back and she chose to save her, at any cost.”

“She didn’t even remember her!” Lucy shouts, rounding on him.  “How could she want back what she never even knew she had?”

“Her other daughter abandoned her.  She felt lost, adrift, questioning everything.  When we all learned of Amy’s existence - thanks to you, by the way - we knew there was an opportunity to have one of our own piloting.  Just in time, too. Emma’s arrogant ambition was her downfall, and rather than recover from her injury and pass the reigns of the Mothership off, she pushed to continue being the sole pilot.  Amy was only half-finished training when she developed sepsis.”

Amy shrugs, smiling.  “Finally committed to something, believe it or not.  Took a long time to complete the training, especially once Emma passed away, but I’m the best pilot that Rittenhouse has.  The only pilot, really. But we’ll have more before long. We’ve restarted the training program. Finally built a simulator and already found a few possible candidates.  I’ll be training them.”

Lucy feels as if she might be sick, despite Amy beaming at her, and she takes another step away from her sister, shaking her head.  “No, you...no, this is all wrong.”

“You should be happy, Lucy.  After all, you’re joining the family business, right?”  His voice is dripping with sarcasm. “The time-traveling sisters, dynamic duo, going through history and righting wrongs.”

“Cut the crap, Nicholas.  We both know I never intended to stay.”  

He grins widely as she confirms what he clearly already knew.  From the corner of her eye, she can see her sister’s face fall, and she turns to her quickly.  “Amy, come with me,” she pleads, her face desperate. “You have to know this is all wrong. That what they’re doing is wrong.  And the Amy I knew, _my_ Amy, would hate everything that Rittenhouse stands for.”  

“Well, maybe you don’t know me very well,” she replies, backing away as she speaks, drawing closer to her grandfather’s side.  “Rittenhouse is my family. We stand by our own. And I am _not_ your Amy.”

Her heart is breaking, each word cutting like a knife to her chest.  Lucy reaches feebly for her sister’s hand, only for Amy step back out of reach.

_Maybe I got you back, but it feels like I lost you anyway._

“Your sister made her choice, Lucy,” Nicholas says evenly, putting an arm around his granddaughter's shoulders.  “And as for you, now that we’re all being honest-” His hand slips under his jacket, no doubt reaching for the weapon holstered there, and Flynn chooses that instant to step into the room, his gun aimed at Nicholas as he goes to Lucy’s side.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“And this must be Garcia Flynn.”  Nicholas grins. “I hear you’ve been a thorn in our side for a very, very long time.  Just can’t seem to die.”

Flynn keeps his eyes and pistol trained on Nicholas, but says nothing to him in response.  “Lucy, we need to go.” She looks up at him, clearly not comprehending anything taking place around her.  It’s jarring for him to see her that way, and he drops one hand from his gun to put to her shoulder instead.  “Lucy?”

“She’s in shock,” Nicholas calls.

“Who the hell asked you?” Flynn snarls.  He steps in front of Lucy, gun still aimed at Nicholas, and slowly backs up toward the door, Lucy moving automatically behind him.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious?  About your brother?”

Against his better judgment, Flynn stops.  “What about him?”

“You haven’t wondered why he’s here?”

“I figured that was obvious.  Same reason you bring any of them back.”

“He’s quite loyal, you know.  Protects his family with his life.”

“And by family, I’m sure you mean Rittenhouse.”

“Of course.  The family that didn’t abandon him.”

“Abandon him?  I saved his goddamn life.”

“Perhaps.  But in his eyes, you’re the man who stalked his mother.  Even used her as a human shield during a firefight.”

Flynn scoffs.  “That’s not-”

“And the one who killed her.”

Flynn goes white, his steady aim finally faltering.  “...what did you just say?”

Nicholas smiles.  “Haven’t had time to check up on mom recently?  So you aren’t aware she died in 2013?”

Flynn takes a few steps toward Nicholas, angry, gun pointed directly at his face.  “What the _fuck_ did you do?”

“Me?”  Nicholas shrugs.  “Nothing. You, on the other hand, as far as Gabriel knows, broke into your mother’s home and strangled her.”

“I would never-”

“I suppose that’s why it was so easy for him,” Nicholas continues, ignoring Flynn.  “Killing your wife and daughter. Eye for an eye.”

There’s a dead silence in the room in the wake of his words.  Lucy looks at Flynn in horror as he takes an unsteady step back, his shooting hand shaking almost imperceptibly, and as he takes another step back he finally stumbles to one knee, the fight gone out of him all at once.  Lucy walks slowly toward him, kneels beside him and rests a hand against his back. He doesn’t register she’s there, his eyes on the floor.

They’ve finally done it.  They’ve broken him.

Nicholas turns to Amy, leans toward her to murmur, “Would you be a dear and ask Gabriel to join us?”  Amy nods, heading toward the door, her steps slowing with slight hesitation as she passes her sister. She has to force herself to continue on, tearing her eyes away from Lucy as she disappears out the door, leaving them alone with Nicholas.

“Do you see now, Lucy?” Nicholas says, voice quiet, measured.  “The inevitability of it? This ’resistance’ you’ve mounted will never win.  Rittenhouse is always ten steps ahead.”

The hatred is visible on her face, her eyes burning as she glares up at Nicholas and whispers, “Shut up.”

“Does the truth hurt, Lucy?  That pain you’re feeling is your hope finally dying.”  He nods at Flynn. “Like his has.”

“Shut _up_.”

“But he died along with his family, didn’t he?  This husk that’s been walking around, causing trouble...he’s reached his expiry date.”  He tilts his head, trying to meet her eyes. “But you, Lucy...you have potential. And you have a choice.  You’re one of us, or you should have been. You still could be.” He walks toward her, kneeling so they’re at eye level.  “Your mother and sister have a great deal of faith in you. Faith I don’t share. But I must admit, your tenacity has been impressive.  You’ve accomplished much more than I thought possible. And so I’ll make you an offer.” He extends his hand. “Join us. Take your mother’s place.  We’re your family, Lucy, and Rittenhouse needs a historian; who better to guide Amy than her own pureblood sister?”

She looks down at his open palm, not moving, not speaking.  After a moment, Nicholas lets his hand drop, shaking his head and sighing as he stands once more.  “I thought as much. Too stubborn for your own good. You’re a lot like your mother that way.” He takes the gun from his waistband and turns it over in his hands, examining it as he walks back toward the window.  “A waste of intellect. Of time. Emma said as much, not that Carolyn ever put much stock in anything Emma had to say.” He stops, gun in hand, finger resting just above the trigger. “It’s unfortunate that someone in the Keynes line turned out to be such a disappointment.”

“I am so _sick_ and _tired_ of your _bullshit_.”

Nicholas turns back to her, the start of a smile on his face as he feels a swell of pride for the first time at his granddaughter finally showing a backbone.  

The smile fades quickly - as a bullet penetrates his skull.

Nicholas slumps to his knees first before falling back, dead well before he hits the marble floor.  Lucy lowers Flynn’s gun, her hands shaking so fiercely she nearly loses her grip, and as the adrenaline and rage subside she leans forward on one palm and struggles not to vomit.

The sound of the gunshot snaps Flynn out of his daze.  His movements are robotic as he takes the gun from Lucy’s shaking hand, and he uses his free hand to pull her into his arms as she finally breaks down, the full impact of what has just taken place hitting her.  She grips his shirt, whether for comfort or to stop the shaking, her eyes shut tightly as she sobs in agony, and Flynn merely holds her in silence.

“Lucy, we need to go,” he murmurs, and she nods, struggling to compose herself.  Flynn gets to his feet, every movement taking considerable effort that he no longer has in him, and he gently pulls Lucy to her feet as well, keeping his arm around her, as much supporting her as himself.  Lucy wraps her arm around him in return, and together they make their way back toward the elevators, everything a blur. Flynn presses the down arrow and leans against the wall, arms around Lucy, and they stand there, waiting, holding on to each other for dear life.  Lucy presses her forehead against his shoulder, eyes closed, and he rests his cheek against her hair.

“She’s…”

“I know.”

Her eyes fly open, fear evident on her face.  “We need to get out of here. We’re going to die here unless we get out.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

The elevator arrives and he ushers her onto it quickly.  As he presses the button for the main floor he looks up, and sees his brother’s eyes glaring back at him from the elevator opposite, Amy at his side and equally as shocked.  There’s a pause as Gabriel realizes what’s happening, and he pulls a gun from his hip holster to aim at Flynn and Lucy just as the other elevator closes fully.

Flynn thinks frantically, formulating a plan on the fly.  “We have less than two minutes before we reach the ground floor.  An alarm will be-” On cue, an alarm springs to life on the overhead speakers.

“Flynn...what’s our plan?” Lucy asks warily, her eyes on the numbers above the door that are steadily counting down.  “Sure you don’t have another gun in that bag?”

He looks down, only just remembering the bag he’s been carrying as she mentions it, and it dawns on him.  “I have an idea. Stay close to me, no matter what. I’m getting us out of here.”

True to Flynn’s words, the elevator arrives in the lobby two minutes later, and already guards are in formation around it, guns held at the ready.  The doors slide open, and they lift their weapons with every intent to fire.

And then immediately lower them, backing away.

Flynn steps off the elevator with a grenade held in hand, pin already pulled and lever gripped tight to keep it from triggering.  Lucy stands just behind him, holding his gun, her other hand on his shoulder.

“Nobody moves, or I let go.”

By now, most of the lobby has noticed the events taking place.  The soldiers track their movements with their guns still aimed, not following as per Flynn’s words but also not taking their eyes off of them.  Together Flynn and Lucy back toward the exit, Flynn keeping the grenade held out in front of him where they can all see it. He can feel a rush of warm summer air on the back of his neck as Lucy pushes the door open, exactly the sign he was waiting for.

In a split second Flynn ducks and throws the grenade along the floor, turning to dash out the door without waiting to see the end result.  Immediately people scramble, screaming, trying to get away.

_...4, 3, 2…_

Flynn and Lucy are halfway across the plaza by the time they hear the explosion behind them.  Most of the windows of the lobby are blown out by the force of it, and although it’s not powerful enough to do any structural damage, it makes quick work of the guards.  Lucy is sprinting, the adrenaline distracting her from any pain that her still-bare feet may be feeling as she crosses the pavement, and Flynn follows close behind, finally ditching the laptop bag and tossing his glasses off to the side so he can run more easily.

They reach the Lifeboat just in time to hear shouts in the distance drawing near.  Flynn pushes the warehouse door closed behind them, and boosts Lucy up into the Lifeboat, scrambling quickly to follow.  As is their habit by now, Lucy takes the pilot seat, Flynn strapping in next to her once the door has cycled shut.

The guards in pursuit pull the door open just in time to see the ship jump, leaving only dust and empty concrete in its wake.

* * *

Jiya sits with her elbows leaning on the desk, waiting and worried, her eyes on the empty space next to the Mothership.  An hour had gone by since the Mothership had appeared out of nowhere, a bruised and bloody Wyatt the first one to stumble out the door with the assistance of his wife, closely followed by a shaky Denise and Rufus.  Their escape had been close, literally fleeing as bullets flew overhead, and though they were mostly unscathed, they were clearly shaken. They had no idea when the Lifeboat was meant to follow, but with the group having been separated on floor 18, they hardly expected it to be close behind.  But two hours...nothing should have taken Lucy and Flynn two hours to get out.

Unless something went wrong.

“Still nothing?”  Rufus walks up behind her, pressing a kiss to her temple, and sets a mug of tea in front of her.  She flashes him a small smile in thanks.

“Still nothing.”

He pulls up a chair next to her.  “Flynn is there. There’s no way he’d let anything happen to her.”

“It might not be up to him.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about that guy at this point, it’s that nothing can get in his way when Lucy is involved.”

Jiya smiles again and nods, leaning against Rufus and laying her head on his shoulder with their hands entwined. “I’m glad you made it back safe.  I felt sick the whole time you were gone.”

“Ah, I was fine.  I’m plucky.”

“Not the word I’d use for it,” Jiya says with a laugh, tracing circles on his hand with her thumb.

Wind picks up in the garage abruptly in spite of the still-closed doors, and both Rufus and Jiya scramble to their feet, backing away just as the Lifeboat materializes before them, a hair's breadth away from the Mothership next to it.  Jiya slips around the desk, practically vaulting the corner as she rushes to the base of the Lifeboat, a grin on her face as the hatch slides open.

They see Flynn first, leaning against the doorway and looking both disheveled and exhausted.  As the hatch finishes cycling open they see Lucy next to him, clutching his arm and leaning against him for support, white as a sheet and equally as shaken.  Both are clearly in pain, though no wounds are immediately visible.

“Did you get hit?” Rufus asks, extending a hand to help Flynn down; clearly the man is out of sorts if he isn’t just vaulting to the floor as usual.  Flynn and Rufus each hold a hand out for Lucy to take, and she trips as she exits, stumbling over the edge and narrowly caught in Flynn’s arms before she can fall to the ground.

“No. Lucy’s feet are banged up, but we’re both okay.”

Rufus and Jiya glance at each other, wary.  Despite what he said, neither Flynn nor Lucy looks okay in any way, shape, or form.

“What happened?”

Flynn lifts a hand to halt his questions, eyes downcast.  “Later, Rufus.”

“Lucy?”  Jiya touches her arm, and Lucy jumps as if she just noticed Jiya was there.  “Are you okay?”

“I...I can’t.”  She gently eases between Rufus and Jiya, heading for the entrance to the house, and Flynn is quick to follow her.  Again Rufus and Jiya look at each other, eyebrows raised, wondering just what the hell happened after they were separated.

Flynn doesn’t rush to catch Lucy, merely follows her as she makes her way up the stairs.  She passes Denise on the upper landing and doesn’t stop, and Flynn shakes his head at Denise as he follows Lucy into her room, closing the door behind them and turning the lock.

She’s standing at the center of the room, arms wrapped around herself.  Flynn approaches hesitantly, stopping just short of reaching her. Now that the adrenaline has subsided and things are calm once more, he’s back to that place of uncertainty, things unresolved between them from the night before...and yet, somehow, none of it feels like it matters.  Not anymore. Not after what they’ve just faced.

He’s about to say her name when she turns to him, and he can tell she’s in pain.  She isn’t crying anymore, having exhausted all the tears she had in her, and just looks hollow.  Lost. She doesn’t meet his eyes, instead crossing to the bed, and she sits on the edge, gripping the blanket tightly with both hands.

Flynn switches the harsh overhead lights off, casting the room into darkness, and then crosses to the fireplace against the far wall and switches that on instead, the light from the flames bathing them in a warm, comforting glow.  He goes back to Lucy and kneels down, delicately taking one of her feet in his hands to examine it. She has scrapes and cuts all down the soles of both of her feet, not the worst he’s seen, but no doubt painful all the same. He heads to the bathroom to gather the first aid kit from the cupboard and wets a cloth, then kneels before her once more and gently wipes the dirt and blood from each foot.  She winces, but otherwise doesn’t react. Once he’s finished cleaning them up, he wraps both feet in gauze, then looks up at her face. She’s almost catatonic, and the sight of it worries him.

He slides her jacket off her shoulders, gently prying her arms away from clutching her body so he can slip them out of the sleeves, and sets it roughly folded to the side before turning back to unbutton her blouse.  He means nothing by it, his only intent to get her out of her torn and sweat-drenched clothing, and she seems to sense this, not fighting him, not reacting at all as he slips the shirt back off her shoulders and sets it with the jacket.  Once her pants have similarly followed suit, he retrieves a blanket from the foot of the bed and unfolds it before wrapping it around her shoulders, then gathers her fully into his arms. She feels small, delicate, like she might shatter at any second, not at all the Lucy he’s used to.  He tugs the sheets back on the bed and sets her down with her back resting against the pillows.

“I should…”  He clears his throat roughly, the numb feeling that had been keeping him going finally starting to subside and the full horror the day’s events starting to hit him.  “I should go tell the rest what happened.”

“Don’t go,” she whispers.  “Don’t leave me.”

His heart aches for her, and he sits on the edge of the bed, lifts her hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles.  “I’m not leaving, Lucy. I’m just-”

“ _No_ ,” she says more firmly, finally looking at him, her lip shaking.  “I need you. Stay.”

After a pause, he nods and slips his shoes off, not bothering to shed any of his clothes as he crawls under the blankets next to her and draws her into his arms.  She melts into him and wraps her arms around him in return, her fingers digging into the skin of his shoulder blades as she clutches tightly.

“Flynn, they...Amy…”

“I know.”

“And mom, she...oh god, seeing her like that again…”  She tilts her head to look up at him. “And...your family.  Your brother, your mother, all of it. Garcia, I’m so sorry.  This is all my fault-”

He shakes his head, pulling her against his chest once more.  He can’t think about it, not right now, not if he doesn’t want to fall completely apart in front of her.  It still feels like a dream, and of course, they have no proof that Nicholas was actually telling the truth, but considering Rittenhouse’s track record, he’s almost certain it’s true.  The worst part is the feeling that he did it to himself - that by saving Gabriel, especially in the way that he did, he handed them all the ammunition they needed to turn him against Flynn.

Just then, they hear a quiet knock at the door.  

“Lucy?  It’s Wyatt.  Can we talk?”

Flynn slips out of the bed and crosses to the door, opening it slightly and standing in the doorway.  Wyatt looks surprised to see him, a hint of the usual annoyance there as well. Still, at least the intense loathing is absent.  He’d been completely patched up in the time it took the Lifeboat to return, almost looking as good as new, aside from the bandages and his slight limp.

“Oh, uh, hey Flynn.  Is Lucy-”

Flynn shakes his head.  “Not right now.”

“Is she okay?” Wyatt asks, brow furrowed.

He isn’t sure how to answer that, and so merely shrugs.  Wyatt glances past him, over his shoulder, but can’t see anything with the angle the door is at.  “Did something happen after we got split up?” Flynn nods, offering up no further information, and the growing frustration is evident on Wyatt’s face.  “Are either of you going to tell us what happened?”

“Later.”

“Damnit, Flynn-”

The door is abruptly yanked open, Lucy now standing next to Flynn with the blanket bundled around herself, her face blank.

“Go away, Wyatt.”

He blinks, looking as if he’s been slapped.  He opens his mouth to protest further, then closes it and nods.  Lucy offers up no further reaction except to close the door in his face and flip the lock once more, and after a beat, they hear his footsteps receding down the hall.  She stands at the door for a minute longer, hand still on the knob, while Flynn is a short distance away with his arms crossed.

“He’s right.  We need to tell them what happened.”

“We will.  But not right now.”  She finally lets go of the knob and walks over to him slowly.  “I can’t think about that right now.”

“Lucy,” he murmurs, stroking her cheek with his thumb.  “There isn’t time-”

“There’s never enough time.  To live, to catch our breath, to have a moment of peace.  It’s constant fighting and dying and...and loss.” She takes in a shaky breath.  “I’m sick of it, Garcia. I’m sick of all of it. I want this nightmare over.”

He nods, leans his head down to rest his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.  “I know.”

“Flynn,” she whispers, her voice breaking.  “I need you. Please, I...I need you.”

Flynn is about to tell her he’s there for her as long as she asks it of him, but doesn't get a chance, as Lucy leans up on her toes and lets one hand slide up over his shoulder to bury her fingers in his hair, gripping tightly this time as she pulls him down to press her lips against his, the blanket falling to the floor forgotten.  She isn’t gentle, kisses him hard and rough as she steps forward and forces him to back up until he feels the edge of the desk against the back of his thighs. Flynn pulls back from her, breaking the kiss, concerned and conflicted. He’s uncertain what she truly needs, whether he should stop her or if that would do more harm than good, and wonders whether this is just a band-aid against the pain, a distraction from having to feel anything.  

He lasts only seconds, his eyes drifting over her face as if he can find the answer there, and then his hands are at her waist, gripping tightly, and he's returning the kiss in earnest. His fingers drift over her back, one hand tracing the contour of her spine, and Lucy gasps quietly at the touch.  Flynn reaches down to lift her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he turns and rests her on the edge of the desk. He can't think straight anymore, can't see straight, can only focus on Lucy and the feel of her body pressed against his. He puts a palm against the glass of the window behind her as he leans into her, and now both of their lips are burning, both of them out of breath, both completely powerless to stop.  Her hands drift over his shirt, deftly unbuttoning it with unnecessary urgency, and she slips both palms under, her nails dragging lightly over his skin as she slides her hands around his chest to grip his broad shoulders. He breaks the kiss and trails his lips down her neck, his hand cradling the back of her head, and Lucy leans into his touch, her nails digging into his back as he nips gently at her bare shoulder, his free hand unclipping her bra after a half second of fumbling.  Lucy lets out a small sigh and shivers as he tugs the bra out of the way, the cold air tingling against her suddenly exposed skin, and pulls him tighter against her.

She needs this.  She can’t feel anything, a numbness that she knows is just barely holding back a tidal wave of grief, and she needs to feel something else, _anything_ else.

She pushes him back so she can more easily slip his shirt back over his shoulders, and it falls to the ground, forgotten.  She runs her hands down his bare chest, catching his mouth against hers as she reaches to undo his belt, and she pulls it fully out of the belt loops in one smooth motion before dropping it to the side.  Before she can reach for his pants, he lifts her again, the feeling of his calloused hands against the bare skin of her thighs causing a wonderful ache in her stomach. He carries her to the bed, laying her on it with gentle care, and she hooks two fingers into his belt loops to pull him with her.  He slips an arm behind her neck and props himself up on his other hand so he can look at her. Her dark hair is draped around her on the bed like a veil, her cheeks flushed pink and lips raw and red.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, and she yanks his head down again to kiss him roughly once more, their teeth knocking together, lips burning.  She fumbles with his pants again and he uses his free hand to help her, pushing them to his knees before deciding that’s good enough. He pauses, poised to continue, and looks her in the eye.  “Lucy. Is this what you actually want?”

Her face softens somewhat, eyes glassy, and he feels a surge of panic in his chest that he’d made the wrong choice in letting things get this far.  But she smiles and leans up to kiss him softly, nodding as they part. “The only thing I’m sure of is this.” She runs her fingers through his hair.  “You and I. Just us.”

It’s paralyzing, how much he loves this woman.  He nuzzles his face against hers as he enters her slowly, and she gasps, her eyes fluttering closed as they settle into a smooth rhythm.  He’s lost in it, lost in her, can’t think of anything except the feel of her around him. She lets out a quiet moan, arching her hips against his, legs wrapping around the back of his knees for leverage.  It’s desperate and calm all at once, bittersweet, something that both of them had wanted for some time, tainted by the loss that they are both struggling not to feel. He watches her face as he moves, her eyes closed as she digs her fingers into the back of his thigh, pulling him against her with a silent desperation.

She finishes before him, arching her back with her eyes still closed, her mouth open but no sound coming out.  He follows soon after, gripping the sheets tightly with one hand and burying his face against her neck, and he can feel her fingers against the contours of his back, tracing over the scars there with no hesitation.

“Lucy,” he whispers, breathless, and she tightens her hold on him.

“I know.”

She turns her head and they kiss once more, and he’s certain he will never again taste anything as sweet as her lips.  

They have nothing left but each other, and for now, that’s enough.


	16. Chapter 16

For the first time in weeks, Lucy wakes feeling well-rested, no nightmares or visions plaguing her sleep, and the sunlight shining through the windows makes her squint as she opens her eyes.  She can feel Flynn warm against her back, his arm slung over her side with his hand still holding hers, but his quiet snoring tells her he still hasn’t woken up. She doesn’t particularly mind being trapped, and carefully rolls over so she can face him without needing to move his arm.  His eyes are closed, and she tucks her head under his chin, laying against his shoulder, the memory of last night bringing a smile to her face.

Her bubble of peaceful happiness lasts only seconds before the rest of yesterday floods back into her mind, and the smile disappears.  She shuts her eyes tight, moving closer to Flynn, as if his presence can chase the demons away. She can hear his heartbeat as she lays against him, steady and reassuring.  Perhaps if she stays in bed, safe and warm, she’ll eventually wake up from the extended nightmare that her life has become.

Flynn stirs as she slides closer, waking slowly, and he glances down at her, shifting his arms to hold her more securely.

 _“Dobro jutro,”_ she murmurs, her pronunciation clumsy, and Flynn laughs, smiling.

“Good morning to you too.”  

“Sleep well?”

“Best sleep I’ve had in years.”  

Lucy grins.  “Yeah. Me too.”

They lay there a moment, just watching each other, committing the moment to memory.  There’s no discomfort or self-consciousness from either of them despite their current states.  They’re bare to each other in more ways than one, but Lucy knows she always was when it came to him.  He’d said he knew her better than she knows herself. He wasn’t wrong. He’d followed her through multiple lifetimes, how could he not?

A door closes loudly down the hall, and voices drifting up the stairs from the kitchen give her unpleasant flashbacks of her time in university shared residence.  “Can we just stay here?” she asks, sighing.

“You have no idea how much I’d like to say yes,” he replies, finally letting go of her and sitting up with a groan.  His muscles are aching still from all of the exertions of the day previous (not to mention the night), an unpleasant reminder of his age.  “I can tell them what happened. You should take a shower, relax.”

“What are you trying to say, Flynn?” she asks, mock scandalized.  He laughs as he swings his legs off the edge of the bed, pausing to stretch his neck, and Lucy slips her arms around his waist and rests her chin on his shoulder, hugging him tightly from behind.

“I mean it,” he murmurs, turning his head to kiss her gently over his shoulder.  “Relax.’

She nods and settles back down against the pillows, pulling the sheet back over herself and watching as Flynn gathers his clothes from the floor.  He doesn’t bother to put on his shirt as he only intends to sneak to his room and put on his actual clothes, rather than suffer through another day of the godawful disguise.  He pauses a moment to look Lucy over, and something in his eyes makes her blush despite herself.

Once he’s left, Lucy relaxes as instructed, taking her time getting dressed and heading downstairs a few short minutes later. It's surprisingly quiet in the main house - no doubt because most of the team are busy in the garage - and so the only person Lucy finds upon heading to the kitchen is Jessica, slowly dipping a tea bag in and out of a mug as she stares down at it, lost in thought. She looks up as Lucy enters and both have a brief moment of instinctive panic, before Lucy's face softens. “Hey. How are you?”

Jessica looks taken aback, whether at the kind tone or at the fact that Lucy is speaking to her at all, and she hazards a small appreciative smile. “This is….a definite upgrade from that godawful bunker.”

Lucy laughs. “Yeah, it is.”

They fall into an awkward silence as Lucy wracks her brain for something to say. Everything that had taken place between them when it came to Wyatt was long since over and done with, at least as far as Lucy is concerned, but it doesn't escape her memory that just a week or so previous both of them had pointed guns at each other, and though neither had really intended (or hoped) to shoot, it didn't make it any less bizarre to be casually hanging out in the same kitchen. What would they discuss? The weather? What TV shows they were each binge watching? It’s surreal, the punchline to a shitty joke.

Lucy fills a travel mug with boiling water and puts a teabag in. “I'm gonna go for a walk. Wouldn't mind the company, if you’re bored.”

Again Jessica looks surprised at the olive branch Lucy is offering her, but she smiles and nods, dumping her tea into a to-go mug as well. They pass a sleepy Wyatt on their way to the door, and as he descends the stairs he looks alarmed for a moment to see his wife strolling casually out the door with his former paramour. They ignore him, Lucy holding the door open for Jessica without a glance back and following her shortly thereafter.  They stroll down the driveway in silence and turn to follow the road rather than seek out the path to the beach.

“This is kind of weird,” Jessica says, laughing nervously. “I mean, we just spent weeks avoiding each other, not to mention we both tried to shoot each other….”

“Water under the bridge,” Lucy says, smiling.  Jessica smiles in return, still looking out of sorts.  “I mean, at least for me, it is. So don’t...don’t worry about me.”  She trails off. “Yeah, you’re right, this feels weird.” They reach a bench that overlooks the coastline and sit together, staring out over the water as they sip their respective beverages.

“I’m sorry,” Jessica finally says, her voice quiet.  “About your mom.”

Lucy freezes, brow furrowed, and it takes a moment for her to realize Jessica is referring to her mother’s cancer rather than death at Emma’s hands.  She isn’t sure what to say, and so instead just nods gratefully.

“She, uh...took me under her wing a bit.  Followed my academic progress when I was in school.”

She looks at Jessica, surprised.  “Wyatt said you were a bartender.”

Jessica rolls her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips.  “My wonderful husband, only giving half the story. I’m actually an RN.”

“Really?” Lucy says, impressed.  “Then why…?”

Jessica shrugs.  “I only graduated in 2016, and between my commitments to Rittenhouse and having to run two adults’ lives while my husband was god-knows-where for _his_ job, I just couldn’t do the long hours anymore.  It was especially helpful when Carol got sick, until Noah became the on-site attending for her.”

“That explains it,” Lucy says, and Jessica raises an eyebrow in question.  “Why Wyatt didn’t mention it. In his original timeline you died in 2012.”

“Ah.”  Jessica nods, looking a bit put off as always at the mention of her apparent death.  “Yeah, that’s when I...started school, so...that makes sense. He probably doesn’t even know.  Guess I’m still not used to him being this totally different person than the one I wanted to divorce.”

“You don’t anymore, then?”

Jessica shakes her head, staring into the distance.  “I gave up Rittenhouse for him. For the baby. For the chance that this time, finally, the changes will stick.  I just...hope he doesn’t make me regret the decision. I’m putting a lot of faith in him being this man that he argues he is.  But every few years he pulls this routine, and I’m not sure I can do it again. And with a baby this time...” She sighs. “Single mother with a target on my back and nowhere to go.  It’s...well, frankly, it’s terrifying.”

Lucy knows the feeling.  But she’d had her team since the outset of this whole nightmare, while Jessica had just turned her back on something she’d been loyal to her entire life.  “For what it’s worth, Jessica, I do think he’s changed. I don’t know how you can go through all of this and not be.”

Jessica smiles sadly.  “It’s just a lot to move past.  To see him as he is now, not as what he was.  He’s so familiar, but different too.”

“Probably feels the same about you,” Lucy points out, nudging her gently, and Jessica nods.

“I guess both of us have a lot to work through.  Not the greatest timing for a baby.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”  Lucy glances briefly at Jessica’s midline, where the hint of a bump is starting to show.  “Talking of which, how’s the baby doing?”

“Oh, hell if I know,” she says, laughing bitterly.  “Not exactly a lot of time for prenatal care, you know?  At this point I’m just hoping for the best, at least until Rittenhouse is out of the way.”  She sips her tea again, grimacing. “God, what I wouldn’t give for caffeine.” She’s quiet a moment, then sets her mug on the ground and turns to Lucy, her face serious.  “Can I ask you something?”

That sounds ominous.  “Of course.”

“You and Wyatt.”

Oh god.  Lucy resists the urge to groan and just nods.

“I know you two had something going on, but-”

“Trust me, it wasn’t much.  It could have been, but…” Both know what her pause means - his wife showed up out of nowhere, and that was the end of that.  “Though if I’m being honest, I don’t know that it would have lasted very long anyway. It was brief and I got caught up in the whirlwind a bit, it felt very Hollywood romantic-”  She leaves out the mention of their actual Hollywood encounter, as it doesn’t seem relevant anymore, a distant memory from a past life. “-but I’ve...got something else now, and it’s very, very different.”

“I was wondering about that,” Jessica says, eyebrow raised.  “What’s going on with you and Flynn? I left when you just got back from wherever you were, and something is definitely different now.”

Lucy can’t resist the happy smile that crosses her face.  “Yeah, things have changed a bit around here. Flynn and I are...hard to explain.  But rest assured that there is nothing left between me and Wyatt. Like I said, I have something different, something a lot stronger and...real.”

Jessica nods, a knowing smile on her face.  “Alright, keep your secrets then.”

It’s a welcome surprise, how different things are between the two of them.  Both products of Rittenhouse, both going a very different path before converging on the same again.  Lucy hadn’t realized just how similar she and Jessica were. Too busy trying to gun each other down or resenting the other for their place in Wyatt’s heart (something that is foremost on the list of decisions she wishes she could take back, considering how messy it made things….but of course, hindsight is 20/20).

“Can I ask _you_ something?” Lucy says, not looking at her, but she can see Jessica nod in the periphery.  “My sister.”

“Amy?”

“Yeah.  How long has she been part of Rittenhouse?”  She isn’t sure she wants the answer, but at the same time knows she needs it.

“Oh, geez, um...I think Carol raised her in it pretty much.”  Jessica leans back on the bench, staring up at the sky, trying to recall the details.  “I was always encouraged to spend time with her, show her the ins and outs if Carol was particularly busy.  She’s a really sweet girl. You’re lucky. I always wanted a sister. Instead I just got Kevin. Though I have to admit, I’ve been a bit more grateful to have him around since I learned there’s a version of my life where he’s gone.  Funny how death puts things in perspective.” The irony doesn’t appear to be lost on her, that her words could be applied to her own husband as well. “I thought Carol had raised you in it too, but...I’m guessing not?”

“Maybe in this version of reality.  In the one I came from, neither me or Amy knew anything about it.  Not until shit hit the fan. I don’t know if we _ever_ would have learned about it, considering how sick mom was, if not for...Flynn.”  It occurs to her as she says it that Flynn isn’t really to blame for the ensuing events after his theft of the Mothership.  Not really. She’d handed off the journal, after all. She’d started the whole mess.

Lucy stands and stretches lightly.  “I’m gonna head back.”

“I’ll join you.”  Jessica is almost too quick to say it, and immediately her cheeks turn a bright shade of red.  Clearly she’s been itching for someone to talk to other than her husband. Lucy smiles and nods for her to follow.

They’re halfway back to the house when Lucy asks her, “How long has Amy been piloting?”

“Pretty much since Emma showed up with a gaping hole in her side.  They’d just barely started to train her when that happened, and then they expedited things on the off chance Emma succumbed to the wound.  Still wasn’t quick enough. So I guess...a few months?”

“Is she...particularly invested in Rittenhouse?”

“I’m not sure.  I think so. But I honestly don’t know how much she knows about the inner workings, what we - sorry, they - have done to get ahead.”

Lucy sighs, shaking her head.  “I just can’t see the sister I knew being okay with anything they’re doing.  It makes me wonder-”

“If she can be flipped like I was?” Jessica finishes, and Lucy nods. “It’s a huge struggle to break away from it.  Even if you aren’t okay with what they do, the morality of it, it’s all you’ve ever known. They really are your family, constantly supporting you...it’s really hard to reconcile that with what you’re told about how they operate.  And if you leave, you lose everyone you’ve ever had in your corner, nevermind the target you paint on your back. No wonder so many of us stick around well beyond the point that we should. That we _want_ to.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you managed it in the end,” Lucy says as they start up the driveway.  “And not just for Wyatt’s sake.”

Jessica smiles.  “Yeah. Me too.”

* * *

“They had Amy piloting?” Wyatt repeats, and Flynn nods.  “Jesus, poor Lucy. No wonder she was a wreck yesterday.”

“She’s still not doing great today, so go easy on her,” Flynn says, omitting any mention of the grief he’s been feeling as well since learning of his mother’s death and of Gabriel’s involvement in-  

...no, he can’t think about that now.  Not if he wants to keep it together, and he’s going to damn well keep his composure with Wyatt in the room.  Apparently, Lucy wasn’t the linchpin in their ongoing conflict, as both can still barely stand the other despite everything that’s taken place.  But for the moment they were playing nice, much to the relief of literally every other person in the room.

“Not that it will do Rittenhouse much good to have a pilot when they don’t have the Mothership,” Connor interjects, smiling proudly at both machines.  “Feels good to have her home finally.”

“Okay, chill buddy.  You’re gonna hurt the Lifeboat’s feelings.”

“Can we maybe _not_ anthropomorphize the machines, please?” Jiya interjects, giving Rufus and Connor a look.  “The last thing I need is to feel sad over dismantling them because we’ve given them names and personalities.”

“Is that our plan then?” Denise asks.  “Dismantle them?”

Wyatt snorts.  “Seems easier to toss a few grenades in and call it a day.”

“Leave it to the soldier to go the route with the least finesse,” Rufus says, just loud enough that Wyatt can hear.  “Poor Lifeboat.”

“He has a point.”  Denise crosses her arms.  “Blowing them up ensures that they won’t be reassembled for use, and it’s much quicker - eliminating the threat of Rittenhouse tracking us down and getting their hands on both ships before we have time to get rid of them permanently.  Even if they salvaged the plans from Mason Industries, it would take them years to build another, and without the combined brainpower of the original science team, I’d say it would take even longer. Hopefully by then they’ll be a non-issue and we can round up the last of them - legally and permanently.”

“As much as it pains me to agree with Wyatt,” Flynn says, pointedly not looking his way, “he makes a good point.  Quick, easy, effective.”

“No.”  They turn to look at the door as Lucy enters, Jessica close behind her, and they can see the anger in her eyes.  “Amy is still with them. We have a rare bargaining chip right now. I’m not leaving her with them.”

“Lucy, I understand your frustration about your sister,” Denise says patiently, “but I’m sorry - we can’t trade the Mothership back to Rittenhouse, even in exchange for her.  It’s too dangerous in their hands, and look at how much we went through just to get to this point.”

“I’m not suggesting we just hand it back over to them, Denise.”  She gets only silence as a response, and sighs in frustration. “Think about it.  Rittenhouse will do almost anything to get it back. So why not use it as a bargaining chip - and then blow them up with it.”

Flynn grins.  “That would definitely do a lot more damage to their organization than just disposing of the ship itself.  Take out the head and the body will follow.”

“You don’t think they’d be careful to make sure we didn’t wire it up with C4 before heading off in it?” Rufus asks, skeptical.  “Rittenhouse is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

“There must be some way,” she insists.  “We have a room full of scientific geniuses here, you can’t tell me you three wouldn’t be able to come up with something undetectable given the time to think about it.”

“Listen, Lucy-”

“No, Denise, you listen.”  It’s an uncharacteristic level of anger from Lucy, especially toward Denise, and she just stares in shock as Lucy continues.  “I waited and waited for a chance to go save Amy and you delayed it every time so we could track down Flynn, and then Emma went back and destroyed any chance I had at getting her back.  Now Rittenhouse has figured out a way to bring her back, healthy and alive, and you want me to _give her up to them_?  I’m sorry, but no.  I refuse to lose her again.”

“Lucy,” Wyatt says quietly, “has it occured to you that Amy may not _want_ to leave Rittenhouse?”

“Of course it has.  But this isn’t just wanting to attend a university mom doesn’t approve of, this is her _life_ on the line.  Amy is the only family I have left.  She’s my baby sister. I rocked her when she was born, I took her to the park to play and made her soup when she was sick.  If there’s even a shred of the original Amy left in her, I know if she finds out what Rittenhouse has been doing, she’ll turn on them.  I _promise_ you she would.”

“You know I love you, Lucy,” Jiya says gently, “but I have to agree with the others on this one.  It’s dangerous to just hand the Mothership back to them, and just to get one person back, who might just fight to get away from us in the end anyway.”

“Why is it that we can go through huge lengths get Jessica back, twice, but when it comes to my sister, it’s suddenly not worth it?”  Standing off to the side, Jessica shifts on her feet uncomfortably as she hears her name, but says nothing. The rest of the group has similarly little to say.  Granted, getting Jessica back had always been due to Wyatt’s knee jerk decision to run off after her, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d been successful, and he’d never gotten so much as a slap on the wrist for it.  Not only that, he’d also proven it was possible to turn someone away from Rittenhouse if given the chance, and she damn well was getting her chance. “Listen. We will never be in this position with them again. We have their ship, we have insider knowledge-” She gestures to Jessica, who is still trying her best to blend into the wall.  “-and we know they have no leader right now. My mother is sick, Nicholas is dead, Emma is dead...I guarantee you they’re left with a bunch of useless old white men who will underestimate us every opportunity they get. This is our chance to deal them a death blow.”

Lucy finally turns to Flynn, seeking support, to have at least one person in her corner.  He’s sitting with his arms crossed, frowning as he listens, and as their eyes meet she has a sinking feeling he’s going to stay impartial, or worse - agree with the rest of them.  Instead, he says, “She’s right. Blowing it up now buys us a bit of time. Blowing it up with them in it, or better yet, once it lands at their headquarters, does a lot more damage.”

“Wait.”  They all turn to Connor as he speaks, his face lit up in sudden realization.  “Rufus, what about the killswitch protocol?”

“Killswitch?” Denise repeats, confused.

Rufus slaps a hand on his desk.  “Yes! Of course! Not exactly what we designed it for but it’d be undetectable, unlike explosives, and if it works, there is _no_ coming back from that.”

Wyatt clears his throat.  “Gonna fill the rest of us in?”

“We designed a virus, a worm, whatever you want to call it - a program that once active would infect the software of the Mothership, wrench control away from the pilot.”  Rufus gets to his feet, seeking out something to write on, and eventually tracks down a notepad and pen, which he quickly scribbles on before holding it up for all of them to see, a diagram that doesn’t particularly clear things up for the non-scientific half of the team.  “Okay, so we have normal time travel, a closed time-like curve. We’ve gone over the theory before - time loops back on itself and we arrive at a set point in the past and vice versa. It’s the whole reason the ships can travel at all. But you need a pilot to manage flight, or you can go wildly off course, end up elsewhere in time and space; hell, you could launch yourself into the event horizon of a black hole.  There’s a reason the training usually takes a year and a couple of degrees. Of course, we do have the autopilot, though now that I think about it, I can’t remember us designing that-”

“Alternate timeline,” Lucy cuts in, waving for him to continue.

“Fair enough.  Anyway, the virus takes control of the ship away from the pilot, and I’m assuming could override the autopilot, and throws the gravitational calculations way off, completely scrambles them.  If that happens, there’s a chance the ship could land somewhere totally random in space and time. So in theory they could try to jump to, say, their New York headquarters an hour from now - and they end up somewhere around Saturn 100 years ago.  Hell, they could be thrown out of our galaxy entirely. There’s no way of knowing. We obviously couldn’t test it.”

Flynn sits up straighter.  “I like where you’re going with this, but what’s to stop them from just jumping again once they land?”

“That’s the best part.  And the scariest, actually.  Once the program runs and forces the jump, it completely nukes the system.  Overheats the hardware, shuts down life support, and the ship essentially turns into a dead metal shell.  They would literally be trapped, and with no supplemental oxygen on board and nowhere for the waste CO2 to go, they’d suffocate within a day or so, probably even sooner.”  He reigns in his gleeful expression somewhat, recognizing how morbid it is. “This kind of situation is actually why we designed it at all. If ever the ship was in the wrong hands.  We just never got a chance to install it before _certain people_ ran off with the Mothership.”  

Yet again Flynn looks scandalized. “Are any of you ever planning on letting that go?”

Wyatt snorts softly.  “Ideally? No. Shocking that we find it difficult to get over repeated attempts to kill us.”

“Give it a rest, Wyatt, he saved your ass,” Jiya says, exasperated, and the fact that she’s the one to chastise him seems to surprise Wyatt enough that he falls silent as instructed.

“So what does that mean for us, practically?” Lucy asks, ignoring the drama going on behind her.

“We have the Mothership back. If we can get a copy of the software up and running, we can implant it in the system, and Rittenhouse won’t know what hit them until they’re floating in space and about to die.”

“The only problem is, of course, we designed that software on the original Mason Industries computers, and it exploded along with the rest of my company,” Connor says, dejected.  “And of course I didn’t make a backup of it - never thought I’d need it, truthfully.”

“Yeah, but I designed it initially,” Rufus says, grinning.  “Anthony weighed in a bit on the math, but that program was a 99% Rufus Carlin original.  Between you, me and Jiya, I bet you anything we have this in the bag.”

“Just so I have this clear,” Denise says slowly, “you’re suggesting we make a deal with Rittenhouse to trade the Mothership for Lucy’s sister, and once they have it, trigger the virus to essentially strand their leadership and their only time machine in outer space with no hope for recovery?”

Rufus shrugs.  “Pretty much.”

She pauses, frowning, then smiles.  “That sounds much more permanent than a grenade.  I like it.”

“Go team,” Jiya says, grinning.  “Alright, we’re gonna need a _lot_ of coffee, and probably some chocodiles for the physics genius over there.”

Denise’s brow furrows.  “Choco-what…?”

Lucy laughs.  “I’m sure we can arrange that.”

“And on that note, the science team would like to request some peace and quiet while we work.  If those individuals not involved could make their way out of the garage, please.” Connor waves a hand at the people closest to him.  “Exit stage left, if you will.”

They leave the science team to work in peace, dispersing to various parts of the house to wait.  Flynn heads for the stairs and Lucy is about to follow when Wyatt catches her by the arm.

“Hey, Luce, can we talk?”

She stares at him for a moment, confused what he could possibly want to discuss, and then nods.  She’s about to turn and tell Flynn she’ll be along in a few minutes, but discovers he’s already disappeared upstairs, and sighs.  “Best go let your wife know, then.”

He nods.  “Meet you outside?  Lower terrace?”

“Fine.”

* * *

Lucy and Wyatt disappearing to god knows where doesn’t escape Flynn’s notice.  He watches from the second flight of stairs as they wander off, debating whether he should follow before deciding she can handle her own interpersonal affairs.  Instead, he heads for his own room (and what a pointless setup that feels like now, all things considered), grows increasingly frustrated tearing apart his things in search of his book, and finally heads to search Lucy’s room as well.  But rather than distract him, as he was hoping, he finds himself shoving things around in drawers, getting more and more pissed off the longer his book eludes him and trying to ignore the images of Lucy and Wyatt jumping into his head.

It’s while he’s rummaging through the night table in the course of his search that he sees it, and he pauses his manhandling of her things to take a closer look.  A familiar flash of burgundy, tucked away with care. The book she kept reading. He’d assumed to that point that it was a new journal she was keeping, hence hiding it every time he came near, but now that he can look at it closer, he sees the cover is worn, the pages almost filled, and there’s no pen in sight.

He picks it up gently and, sitting on the edge of the bed, he flips it open and skims the pages.  Most of it is written in English, with a few passages here or there in Croatian, but the most jarring thing about it is that it is entirely his own handwriting - and he’s never seen it before in his life.

Now far more invested in the content, he flips back to the start and goes over each page slower.  There are occasional sketches interspersed, mainly of Lucy - smiling, laughing, sleeping peacefully, looking generally happy, but her expression changes as the dates move forward, her appearance drifting closer to that of her future self than current, her face growing progressively more morose. The final drawing in the book has her looking into the distance, face blank, and he reads the entry on the page next to it, written fully in Croatian, the last entry in the book before the pages go blank.

_She’s pulling away.  I can tell. Losing him was unbearable, but I thought having each other afterward would make it easier to get through, as much as one can even get through something like that.  But I don’t even have that. I keep trying to get her back, but she slips through my fingers, a ghost of herself. Nothing I do seems to get through to her. Some days she stares at me when I’m not looking, and looks away when I notice.  I think it hurts her to see me. I’m trying to give her the space she needs to grieve, even if it’s alone, but having to go through this on my own again is torture._

_But I’m going to set it right, for her sake.  I’ve been living on borrowed time for far longer than I deserved anyway, and I’ve been dragging her down with me.  Her life has been pain and heartache and loss since the day she met me. I dragged her into this mess, started this nightmare for her.  She deserves better. She deserves happiness. My Lucy. My beloved. She always has been, from the first moment I saw her walk into that bar in São Paulo, and every time after.  Past, present, future. In any lifetime, my heart is hers._

_Lucy, if ever you read this, please know - you saved me, in so many ways.  You pulled me from the darkness and healed my shattered heart, you made me want to live again.  It’s only fair I give you the same._

_G.F. - December 20, 2023_

He closes the book and lays it on the bed next to him, staring absently at the floor with his hands clasped in front of him.  There are a million questions running through his mind, none that he has answers for. How long had she had the journal? Had she read it all?  Where the hell had she even gotten it?

Though he likely has the answer to the last one.  There was only one person who could have possessed that book and brought it with them from another timeline.  As much as he knows it’s the same woman, he finds himself wondering about the motives behind the future Lucy’s ‘gift’.  

And then there’s that last scribbled-on page before a multitude of blank ones.  He has an uneasy feeling what that could mean. He picks the journal back up and flips through the pages after that, hoping to see some hint of further writing.  Nothing.

Reaching the back cover, however, he notices the hint of a gap on the inside near the book’s spine, and rather than laying completely flat as the front cover does, the surface is uneven.  He works a finger under, prying the paper back as gently as he can, until it reveals a pocket that had been carefully glued shut. “The hell…?” He tilts the book, palm cupped under the opening, and a bundle of gold chain tumbles out into his hand.

A locket.

Brow furrowed, he untangles the chain and looks the pendant over.  It’s tarnished, clearly incredibly old, but it’s familiar to him. The same locket Lucy had worn every day since he met her...though now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen the necklace in question in some time.  Not since she’d come back from her solo journey.

He picks at the edge of the locket, trying to pry it open.  The aged hinge protests, but eventually it flips open, and he stares wide-eyed at the photos inside.

* * *

Lucy is leaning on the railing of the lower terrace when Wyatt reappears with two beers in hand, and he holds one out to her.  She looks down at it. “It’s 1:00 o’clock, Wyatt.”

He shrugs, smiling.  “5:00 o’clock somewhere.”

She snorts softly, shaking her head, and takes the beer from him.  “Thanks.” They stand in silence for a moment before Wyatt clears his throat.

“Lucy, I just...wanted to talk about-”

“Jessica?” she finishes, turning to him, her face unimpressed.  “Wyatt, what else is there to be said? You chose your wife - as you should have.”  Her expression softens. “And I don’t blame you for that. I…” She sighs. “I get it now.”

The building relief on his face as she speaks dissipates by the time she finishes her sentence.  Instead he just looks uneasy. “What do you mean?”

She sips her beer again, taking a moment to think.  “When you love someone that much, you just feel so relieved to have them back when you thought you might never see them again, and you’ll do anything to keep them safe, even if the world is burning up around you.  The collateral damage doesn’t matter.”

“Amy?”

“For one.”  She leans on the railing again and can feel Wyatt’s eyes on her.  He takes another swig of his beer and leans on the railing next to her.

“Can I ask you something?”

It’s a question that never seems to lead to anything good, but she nods all the same.

“Why did you go back and change things?”

“You know why-”

“Sure, making sure Flynn didn’t get shot.  But _why_?”

She looks over at him, confused.  “What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Listen, it’s not a secret I’m not a huge fan of the guy.”  He picks at the label on his beer, clearly uncomfortable. “But even setting that aside - why risk everything just to save one guy?  Amy I’d get, but...Flynn?”

She shakes her head, smiling.  “Slightly ironic to hear this from the guy who risked court martial to try and save his wife.”

“That’s different-”

“Is it?”  Wyatt goes quiet again as Lucy turns to him, the look in her eyes saying a million things at once.  She can see his jaw clench slightly. She can’t believe they’re having this discussion at this point, after everything they’d been through to get both Flynn and Jessica back, and she’s not particularly interested in offering him whatever closure he seems to be seeking. She pushes off the railing, intending to leave, when he says, “You love him.”  

It’s not a question.

She freezes, silent a beat.  “I just...wasn’t ready to live in a world without him in it.”  She turns back to him. “But I don’t need to defend my choices to you, Wyatt-”

“I’m not trying to give you the third degree, Luce,” he says calmly.  “I guess I’m just trying to understand why you left. Why things have turned out like this.  Things went south between us, I know I fucked up, but...we were friends once, right?”

She nods, smiling sadly.  “We still are. But Wyatt...I’m not the same Lucy I was.  I don’t understand the intricacies of any of this science, but I know that when I left my reality, Flynn was dead, my mother was dead, Jessica had gone back to Rittenhouse with Emma and we were losing.  In your reality, Flynn was never shot, Jessica was still here, my mother was alive again and Emma dead...everything is different.” She sighs, crossing her arms. “You’ve gotta stop putting me into the box she was in.  I’m not your Lucy.”

“I know that-”

“Then why do I feel like you keep wishing I was someone I’m not?”

He doesn’t have an answer to that, and shrugs instead.

“It’s okay to miss her, Wyatt,” she says quietly, “and I’m sorry I’m not her. I just hope you can forgive me for that someday.”

He sighs, looking down at the ground.  “There’s nothing to forgive, Lucy, I just...want us to be okay again.”  He shrugs once more. “I miss my friend.”

“Wyatt…”  Lucy pulls him into a tight hug, and Wyatt wraps his arms around her in return, eyes closed.  “I will _always_ be your friend.  I’m not going anywhere.  You hear me? You’re stuck with me.  For life.” She steps back, holding his hands in hers.  “We’re family. All of us. And when that baby comes, you better believe I’m going to be the weird aunt who buys her ‘Baby’s First Biography’ books for her birthday.”  

He laughs, a bittersweet smile on his face, before something dawns on him.  “Did you say ‘she’? How do you...?”

 _Woops_.  “Call it a hunch.”  She smiles once more.  “I have to go. And you and Jessica could use some alone time while we have a moment of peace.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”   

“We okay?”

He smiles, squeezing her hand briefly as it slips out of his grasp.  “Yes ma’am.”

* * *

Lucy is halfway done the page she’s writing when she feels his arms wrap around her waist, and she sets her pen down, eyes closed and smiling as he leans forward and kisses her neck.

“What are you writing?” Flynn murmurs in her ear, resting his cheek against her temple.

“Guess.”

He scans the page.  “Another journal? What’s this one for?”

“It’s just what us Preston women do,” she says wryly.  “Collect our thoughts by writing them down.”

“Pretty soon you’re going to have a whole library of those.”  He kisses her temple once more and steps away, heading instead toward the open door to the terrace, and he leans against the doorframe, staring out at the sunset in the distance as a cool breeze washes over them.  “It feels like the calm before the storm.”

Lucy lifts her pen again, but doesn’t immediately write.  Instead, she sits back in her chair watching him. The light from the fireplace is dancing over his tired face, and it takes him a moment to notice her staring, a smile tugging at his lips.  “What?”

She laughs and shakes her head.  “Nothing.” Flynn doesn’t look particularly convinced.  “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

She spins her pen in one hand, pondering, then gets to her feet and joins him in the doorway, taking his arms to wrap around herself as she leans back against his chest and looks out at the sunset.  “We’re so close to finishing this. To having normal lives again. I’ve started wondering what life will look like after everything is said and done.”

“How do you want it to look?”

She shrugs.  “I honestly don’t know anymore.  I had this plan for my life, but...so much of it was just trying to please my mother.  And after the lives we’ve led these past few years...how do you just go back to normalcy?  A nine-to-five job, mortgage, the mundanities of life.” She tilts her head back to look up at him.  “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s the ideal future for Garcia Flynn?”

Looking down at her, he doesn’t hesitate to say, “I’m looking at it.”

She laughs.  “I’m serious, Garcia.”  He’s smiling, but says nothing, hugging her against him tighter.  Her chest aches in that wonderful way again as he holds her, as she realizes the sincerity in his words.  She opens her mouth, then closes it again, and leans back against him instead with her eyes closed.

After a few minutes, he gently lets go of her.  “I need to talk to you about something.”

She turns, still in a happy daze, and nods, watching as he crosses to the night table.  She sobers quickly as he lifts the burgundy journal from the drawer, her face falling as he turns back with it held up.

“What is this?”

“Where did you get that?”

“I was looking for my book and came across it.”  He flips it open, flicks through a few pages. “Have you read it all?”

“Yes.  Most of it.”

“Even the Croatian?”  She nods. “How?”

“Online translator.  Why do you ask?”

He flips to the final written page and holds it up again as he walks toward her.  “Do you know what this says?”

A few seconds pass before she nods.  

“What does it mean?”

She sighs and takes the book from him, holding it in both hands with warm reverence.  “Do you remember when the future Lucy was saying goodbye?” He nods. “The moment she looked at you she said it was good to see you again-.”

“She said it to everyone.”

“No, she added that after the fact.  It was meant for you.” Lucy looks down at the book.  “I think, in the future, you do something, and it gets you killed.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, but I have a guess as to why.”

“Lucy, does that page mean...what I think it means?”

“I don’t know.  And depending on how things go tomorrow, this future may disappear completely-”

“She was pregnant.  And she lost it.”

“We lost it.”  She meets his eyes.  “And then she lost you. Just like I did.”

He feels a stab of pain in his chest and swallows heavily.  “And why do you think she gave it to you?”

“Honestly?  I think she wanted me to know what’s at stake.  What future we’re fighting for. What _I’m_ fighting for.”  She holds the book up.  “And I refuse to let this future win.”

Flynn watches as Lucy crosses the room and, without a shred of hesitation, throws the book into the fireplace.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end notes will have the translation (you'll know what I mean when you get there, too much of a spoiler to say more).

“It feels strange to be here again.”

Seated on the stairs to the Mothership, Lucy stares out at the bunker while Rufus is busy working inside the ship behind her.  She hated the place while living there, but the nostalgia is making their return feel bittersweet. It’s jarring to see the Mothership there as well, but the Lifeboat next to it reminds them that no, Rittenhouse hasn’t infiltrated their sacred space (or, they haven’t _again_ , she supposes, all things with Jessica considered).

“You just got used to better digs,” Rufus replies, his attention clearly divided as he works on installing his killswitch program.  It had taken much of the previous day for the three members of the science team to rebuild the program, but luckily Rufus’s memory was rock solid and he was able to burn through 90% of the programming rather quickly.  After that it had been a waiting game as Denise attempted to make direct contact with Rittenhouse through her secure channels. They’d agreed to an exchange on the somewhat neutral ground that the bunker provided, and in a matter of hours they’d be marching in with Amy in tow.  The team had been preparing that whole morning - not just installing the program, but also ensuring they had enough firepower and a tactical plan in place so they wouldn’t be taken off guard. As Lucy had zero input to offer on either of those topics, she had been left to wait while the rest of her team (or, rather, Rufus, Jessica, Wyatt, and Flynn, as the rest had stayed back at the safehouse) did their assorted jobs.

“Yeah.  Maybe.” She turns to watch Rufus as he works, his fingers flying over the keyboard so quickly she can barely keep track.  “God, we’ve come so far from that night two years ago, huh?”

Rufus pauses in his work and turns to her.  “No kidding. A lot has happened. But considering who we’re up against, and with only our small team, I’d say we’re doing pretty damn good.”

“It’s hard to believe this could be over soon.”

“Hard to believe, sure - but I can’t wait to be done with all of this and get back to video games, a 9-to-5 job, and being able to go out in public safely.  I never thought I’d miss something as mundane as grocery shopping, but here we are. Oh, and not being constantly at risk of getting shot would be great too.”

“What are you and Jiya planning, after all this?” Lucy asks him, smiling.

“We’ve talked about traveling.  Not like...this kind. A good old fashioned plane to a tourist destination in the present.  Maybe Europe.” His gaze shifts to look over Lucy’s shoulder and he smirks. “Maybe we’ll check out Croatia.”  She follows his line of sight, already knowing that he’s looking at Flynn across the room, who then gives them both a strange look in return as he notices them staring.

“I wouldn’t mind that either.”  She smiles and gives Flynn a small wave, and he returns it before continuing his discussion with the Logans.

“What about you?  Going back to teaching?”

She sighs.  “I honestly don’t know.  It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it.  I just wonder how much of my life turned out a certain way because _I_ wanted it, and how much of it was just my mother’s influence.  Really, I’d like to just spend some time with Amy. Relax. Exist as normal people.  I’ve missed her so much, I almost gave up on seeing her again, I don’t know how I’m going to let her out of my sight.”

“And Flynn?”

For a moment she’s quiet.  She wouldn’t do her teammates the discredit of thinking they’re all idiots, but she’d at least hoped that everything between her and Flynn hadn’t been completely and utterly obvious.  Unfortunately, she’s apparently not as subtle as she thought. “I don’t know.”

“Would you stay with him?  If life went back to normal?”

“Absolutely.  If he wants the same.”

“You haven’t discussed it?”

“We did, sort of, but...it’s easy to make promises in the moment that you don’t intend to keep when you’re finally out of harm's way.  Your perspective changes.”

Rufus looks at her with an eyebrow raised.  “Woman, you’re nuts. That insane giant of a man worships the ground you walk on.  And he did even before you took on the risk of jumping alone into your own timeline just to keep him from dying.  Which, by the way, isn’t exactly something you do when it’s casual.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she says with a smile.  “How long until the program is ready?”

Rufus turns back to the control panel.  “Not too long now.”

“I'm gonna stretch my legs.” Rufus waves a hand over his shoulder in response, once more absorbed in his task, as Lucy gets to her feet and descends the stairs. Rather than distract them from their discussion, she leaves Flynn, Wyatt and Jessica in peace to talk strategy, and strolls slowly down the bunker hallway with her hands in her pockets. It's cold, much colder than it was when they lived there, no doubt because the boilers had been shut down shortly after it was vacated, and the silence in the absence of the ambient noise is disconcerting.

She opens the door to Flynn’s former room slowly - or, more accurately, their room, as it had felt as much her room as his for most of their time there - and the loud groan from the hinges echoes loudly down the hall as she opens and closes it behind her.  The space is as sparse as when they left it, no evidence remaining that anyone had used it in recent past. Sitting on the bed, she slides back to rest her back against the wall and pulls her knees up against her chest with her arms wrapped around her legs, staring at the wall opposite.

Funny she should end up back here, at the end of it all.  It feels like a lifetime ago that she and her future self had sat on the bed discussing their private plans, her heart broken but full of hope.  And yet, she’s scared. She won’t admit it to any of them, not even Flynn, not in a million years, but she’s terrified things are going to go wrong.  That Amy won’t be there, that one of them will be hurt, that Rittenhouse will somehow get both ships, or that Flynn will finally catch the bullet he’d thus far avoided thanks to her efforts.  There’s far more things that can go wrong than can go right, and she’s gotten comfortable with a default pessimistic outlook at this point.

She lays down on her side, closing her eyes.  She’s surprised to note the pillow still has the scent of Flynn on it, and she smiles.  Her happiness in being with him feels too good to be true...the fact that they might have a future together, an honest to god _normal_ future, is comforting, and it’s as if she’s existing in a bubble of joy that is insulating her from the pain of the outside world.  Which of course means it’s only a matter of time until something goes wrong, because that is what her life has become. One long cautionary tale - “ _And this, children, is why we don’t meddle with our own pasts.”_

She turns to lay on her back, staring up at the metal ceiling, the distant sound of water dripping acting like white noise and leaving her more relaxed than she has any business being.  She starts to feel woozy, a sensation that has become incredibly familiar at this point, and she relaxes her body in an attempt to grab hold of the vision she knows is hiding in the periphery of her mind.  It fights her, drifting away just as she grabs hold, like a rope slipping through her fingers, and she focuses harder still. Finally she feels herself falling, falling, blackness-

 _Nothing_.

“Lucy?”

She wakes with a start as Flynn, seated on the bed next to her, squeezes her hand gently.  “How long was I out?”

He glances at his watch.  “It’s been about an hour.”

She slides up into a sitting position, confused.  “I don’t understand.

“What do you mean?  You were asleep, Lucy.  I heard you snoring as I walked by the door.”

“But how is that...I didn’t see anything...”  She trails off as Flynn looks increasingly concerned for her.  Clearly he doesn’t understand why she’s so distressed. She forces a smile onto her face.  “Never mind. How long until they get here?”

“If they actually arrive on time, should only be maybe a half hour more.  We wanted to give you and Rufus a rundown of the strategy in case things go south and then ensure we’re in the right positions well ahead of time on the off chance Rittenhouse is earlier than the agreed upon time.  The last thing we need is to be scrambling down the hall to get away from them.”

“And what _is_ the plan?”

He reaches behind his back and pulls a gun from his waistband, flips it in his hand and holds it toward her.  Lucy hesitates before taking it.

“You know how to use that, yeah?”

“More or less, but why?”

“We’re not taking any chances this time.  Everyone has a weapon. We need all the help we can get.”

Lucy nods and fumbles to slide the gun into the back of her own waistband with far less finesse than Flynn or Wyatt always seemed to manage.  When she looks at Flynn again he has a small smile. “What?”

“Interesting contrast, that’s all.”

“Contrast?”

“That the woman who was once terrified of her own shadow is a regular Lara Croft these days.”

She can’t help but smile, her distress about her vision momentarily forgotten.  “That may just be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

He grins and slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him and resting his head against hers.  “Give me time, I bet I can beat it.”

“I bet you could,” she says, grinning widely as Flynn tilts her chin up and kisses her, slow and tender.  It says everything about how he feels about her without him having to utter a word. When he pulls away she has her eyes closed, a dreamy smile on her face, and so she doesn’t see the look in his eyes as he watches her.  He kisses her forehead before pulling her against him with both arms, and she automatically moves to hug him in return, her head tucked against his chest. She could stay there forever, with him holding her, and consider it a life well spent.

“Lucy?”

“Hm?”

“I need to say something, while I have the chance.  Just in case things...don’t go well.”

She leans back and looks up at him.  His expression is serious, incredibly so, and she’s not sure how to read it.  “Yes?”

He opens his mouth, hesitating, and for a second she’s brought back to a moment in another lifetime, sitting in a small photographer’s studio in San Francisco.  Her heart beats faster, and she finds herself nervously gripping the bedsheet with one hand as she waits for him to speak.

He doesn’t get a chance to finish what he’s about to say, as in a beautiful demonstration of déjà vu they hear Wyatt’s voice yell, “Flynn, get your ass out here!” 

Flynn’s mouth closes immediately and he growls quietly in frustration.   _The more things change, the more they stay the same._  Lucy is about to ask him to finish what he was going to say when he gets to his feet and strides toward the door, annoyed, and flings it open to shout in return, “I said to give me a minute!” 

Lucy sighs and gets to her feet, following him back to the kitchen, all of her anxiety about her vision (or lack thereof) flooding back, and she tries desperately to force it down.

* * *

In a surprising show of good faith, Rittenhouse enters the bunker at 5:00 PM on the dot as agreed upon.  They see Gabriel first, and Flynn stiffens at the sight of him, but stays silent. Amy follows close behind him, glancing nervously over at her sister, and behind her trails three more men in tactical gear.

“Where are the guys in charge?” Rufus whispers out of the corner of his mouth to Wyatt, who shrugs without looking at him.  Lucy nails dig into her palms as she clenches her fists tightly. So far her bad feeling is seeming more and more justified.

“Where is Agent Christopher?” Gabriel asks, directly addressing his brother at the back of their group and paying Wyatt, who stands at the front, zero attention.

“You’re negotiating with us,” Flynn says, his voice low and cold. 

“You’re changing the terms of the agreement at the last minute-”

“Nothing has changed,” Wyatt cuts in, sighing, and Gabriel’s eyes shift to him, his face deeply unimpressed, like he’s looking at an insect that isn’t worth his time.  “The agreement you made with Agent Christopher is still in place. Lucy’s sister for the Mothership.”

“We’ll need to look it over first.”

“Fine.  Rufus and one of your guys.”

Rufus looks abruptly at Wyatt, clearly not a fan of this new development, but he sighs and nods for one of the Rittenhouse men to follow him.  Gabriel continues to stare down Wyatt in an attempt to intimidate him, but to his credit, Wyatt doesn’t once shy away from staring Gabriel down in return.

A few minutes later, having inspected both the inside and out of the ship, the Rittenhouse guard heads back to Gabriel’s side and murmurs, “All clear.” 

As Rufus rejoins their group, Lucy steps forward, impatient, ignoring the Rittenhouse guns now pointed her way in response.  “Now your half of the deal.”

Gabriel steps aside and gestures for Amy to step forward.  She looks at him hesitantly, clearly frightened, and doesn’t move.

“It’s okay Amy,” Lucy says quietly, smiling.  “I promise you’re safe with us.”

Amy takes a small step forward, again glancing at Gabriel, who only nods at her, face impassive.  She walks faster as she crosses the space between them, and Lucy pulls her sister into a hug as she reaches her.  They grip each other tightly, and Lucy can’t help the relieved laugh that escapes, tears in her eyes. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

“Missed you too,” Amy whispers.

“We squared up, then?” Wyatt says to Gabriel, whose eyes are still on the reunited sisters.  He nods and jabs a thumb over his shoulder to indicate to his men to head for the Mothership, but doesn’t follow, no doubt intending to cover their backs while they get the ship powered up.

Lucy turns to the rest of the team, her face lit up.  It seems too good to be true that things should go according to plan, and yet there she was, her sister finally beside her once more, Rittenhouse about to destroy the Mothership forever without even realizing it’s a trap.  Clearly karma owed her and was finally paying up.

And then she feels it.  She knows what’s happening exactly as it happens, but is too slow to react to stop it, and as she turns around, she sees Amy standing a few feet back from the group, Lucy’s pistol held out in front of her - aimed directly at Flynn.

“Amy, what are you doing?” she asks, her voice shaking as she looks frantically between her sister and Flynn, whose hands are raised to show he’s no threat.

“He took _everything_ from me.  Mom is dying and you’re on the enemy’s side, he nearly destroyed Rittenhouse, he killed Gabriel’s mother.  He’s a _monster._ ”  She pulls back the hammer on the pistol, her aim not wavering.

“Amy….put the gun down,” Lucy says quietly, taking a step toward her.  Amy’s eyes flick over to her briefly, but she doesn’t switch targets.

“How can you be on the same side as him?  Knowing what he’s done?”

“They haven’t told you the truth, Amy, you need to believe me.  It’s what they do. They lie, they turn you against everyone you love, just ask Jessica-”

“Why can’t you see, Lucy?”  There’s tears in Amy’s eyes, her face pained, and she’s clearly ignoring everything her sister is saying.  “I’m trying to save you. You belong with your family. We need you.”

“Amy-”

“Maybe I just need to do what Emma should have done a long time ago.”

Lucy moves automatically before she can even think about it, time almost slowing in her mind, and her eyes meet her sister’s just as the bullet cuts a path through her abdomen.

“Lucy!” Flynn shouts, and Amy’s face is horrified as she finally drops the gun and backs away, shaking her head.  Behind her, Gabriel moves back to Amy’s side and steps in front of her with his gun drawn, the Rittenhouse guards reappearing from the ship shortly thereafter and also with their weapons at the ready.

Lucy’s hands drop to grip her side, the wind knocked out of her from the force of the bullet, and she stumbles back a few steps.  Flynn is quick to catch her against him before her legs have a chance to give out, and he eases her to the ground. “No no no, Lucy-”

He doesn’t hear anything after that.  The firefight that breaks out in the wake of the shot falls on deaf ears, as he half carries, half drags Lucy around the corner of one of the central consoles and lays her softly on the ground.  She’s gasping, every breath accompanied by a tiny whimper of pain. She looks terrified, eyes wild as she watches Flynn, silently begging him for help.

“Garcia, it hurts, oh god it hurts-”

He pulls her shirt up enough to see the wound.  It’s a clean shot, likely tearing straight through her liver, and the hole there is spilling over with blood.  He presses both hands against it tightly, but blood continues to seep through the gaps in his fingers, and the gesture is useless anyway, as blood is also rapidly spreading across the floor from the exit wound in her back.

“You need to listen,” she chokes out, still gasping, every word an insurmountable effort.  “I n-need you to do something-”

“You’re gonna be okay, Lucy, just hang on,” he whispers frantically, though deep down he doesn’t believe his own words.

“For once in your life just listen to me, Flynn,” she says, frustrated, almost immediately grimacing of pain.  She takes a deep, steadying breath and forces herself to continue. “My journal, the new one, is hidden under one of the floor panels in the Lifeboat.  You need to take it back.”

“Take it back where?”  He’s only half listening, some part of him still hoping that she’s going to make it through this somehow, that the fight will finish with enough time that Rufus can somehow get them to a doctor, that she’ll manage to pull through.

“To you.”

“What?”

“Don’t you see?” she says with a weak smile, growing paler by the minute.  “We’re trapped in a loop, a paradox. Garcia, we were always meant to meet.  We’re connected. I knew you even before I met you.” He opens his mouth again to speak and she gives him as sharp a look as she can manage.  “Shut up and listen - I wrote our story in that book. This horrible, twisted nightmare of a story. I need you to take it back. Give it to yourself.  You have a chance to fix things. Put things right. He can...he can fix all this.”

“Lucy, I can’t leave you.”  He brushes the hair out of her face, palm resting on her cheek.  “Not now.”

She smiles, tears welling up in her eyes, and places a hand over his to hold it against her face.  “Please do this for me, Flynn, I need you to do it for me.” It takes considerable effort for him to force a nod, and she relaxes as he does.  “Thank you.”

“Lucy-”

“Can you just...hold me, for now?”

He’s numb as he complies, his heart still screaming that she might have a chance while his mind insists he should cherish what little time he has left with her.  He pulls her fully into his lap, leaning her against him with her head resting on his shoulder. He can feel her chest rise and fall in short gasps, feels the blood from her wound, hot and thick, soaking into the front of his shirt.  His heart is breaking with every gasp she takes, as if he’s dying right along with her.

“Garcia,” she whispers faintly, slipping a hand over his shoulder to pull herself closer.  He nods, stroking her hair gently. She swallows heavily, unable to hold back a sob of pain, and her grip tightens.  “Flynn, I love you so, so much. I’m s-sorry, for everything.”

“Don’t be sorry, _”_ he whispers, frantic, cradling her against him.  “I have no regrets. I love you, Lucy, I’ve loved you from the first night I met you- _”  
_

He feels it the moment it happens, as she goes still, heavy in his arms.

He looks down at her face, still resting against his shoulder, and sees her unfocused eyes staring forward at nothing.  “Lucy?” He shakes her gently, with no response. “Lucy? Lucy! _Ne, molim te, ne mogu i tebe izgubiti,_ Lucy, wake up, please wake up.”  He knows. He knows deep down. But his heart is breaking and all rational thought is gone, and he’s frantic as he tries desperately to wake her.  “ _Moja draga, nemoj me ostaviti, molim te, nemoj me ostaviti._ Lucy!  Please don’t do this, don’t leave me, _wake up_!”

Nothing.

He sits there holding her long after the echoes of the final shots have faded. The silence is deafening. She's cold in his arms, her face pale as her head lays against his chest.  It’s as if she’s sleeping, but she's heavy, unmoving.

She’s gone.

His head falls back against the console behind him, eyes shut tight, and he takes a deep breath that turns into a shuddering sob that becomes a shout of rage and pain.  He curls his arms around her tighter, resting his cheek against her forehead as he rocks her, tears cutting a burning path down his face. It’s too much. One man can only take so much loss. Rittenhouse hadn't just broken him - they’d destroyed him utterly. The only hollow thought running through his head now is whether or not he should just put the barrel of his gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. Do them all a favor.

He isn't sure how long he sits there. It could be a minute, an hour. It doesn't matter. His world already ended.

But her words echo in his head, her final request.  And so he forces himself to lay her down on the floor once more, and gently takes her face in both hands to press a kiss to her lips for the last time, desperately trying to ignore how cold she is.  He stays kneeling beside her, his eyes taking in her features. She looks peaceful. As if she’s sleeping. As if she’ll wake at any moment and smile brightly at him.

He looks down at his right hand, to the ring there, and slips it off, turning it over thoughtfully for a moment before lifting her left hand and placing it on her finger instead.  Having done so, he rests her hand back over the other on her stomach, and tries to stand, but finds he can’t.

“Get up, Garcia,” he tells himself out loud, his voice strained, and still his body refuses to cooperate.  It’s as if he’s frozen in place, paralyzed, unwilling to walk away from her, wanting to just stay there in the bunker with her and give up on everything.  What even was the point anymore?

His gaze drifts over to the silo, where both ships are still sitting powered down.  From where he’s crouched he can see Gabriel’s cold, empty eyes staring back at him - his brother was the last to go down.  A few feet away is Amy, facedown with a gaping bullet hole between her shoulders as she lays in a vast pool of blood, both her own and that of the guards with them.  Across the room he can see Wyatt and Rufus, both completely still as well; Rufus is leaning against one of the consoles with his eyes closed, slumped against it more than anything, while Wyatt was knocked off his feet by the shots and is splayed out on his back, eyes still wide with shock and staring lifeless up at the ceiling as his wife lays near him, her hand outstretched and reaching for him still. 

They’re all gone.  It’s all over.

He finally forces himself to stand, putting a hand on the console to push himself to his feet.  His legs are shaky, feel like lead, and every step away from Lucy is utter agony, a battle he can barely bring himself to fight.  He crosses the room to the Lifeboat, carefully avoiding looking at the prone figures on the floor, and pulls himself inside, collapsing into one of the chairs as soon as he reaches it.  He isn’t injured, and yet every part of him is screaming in pain.

It hurts to be alive.

He sits there for some time, head in his hands, tears falling, his body wracked with silent sobs. His heart feels fragile, like blown glass ready to shatter at the briefest touch.  He needs to keep moving forward, he knows this - otherwise he may stop entirely, may just give up.

He slips off the chair and fumbles with the floor panels, searching for the one Lucy had referred to, the same one they’d shared a godawful coffee from a lifetime ago. Their history feels so much longer than it is, his memories of her seeming like they’re from another life, one that was somehow simpler, which is laughable, all things considered.

He finally finds the right panel and pries it up, setting it off to the side once it comes free. Below it he finds his jacket - the same one he'd given Lucy years previous - and, wrapped in that, two small blue journals, one new, and one painfully familiar to him, with the pages torn out and tucked back into the cover. He runs a hand over the second journal fondly, the sight of it like running across an old friend again.

Slipping back into one of the seats, he flips the new journal open and swallows heavily as he sees her familiar handwriting.  The last words he would ever have from her.

_May 13, 2018_

_It started with a bullet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one specific paragraph with the Croatian translated is as follows:
> 
> He looks down at her face, still resting against his shoulder, and sees her unfocused eyes staring forward at nothing. “Lucy?” He shakes her gently, with no response. "Lucy? Lucy! No, please, I can't lose you too, Lucy, wake up, please wake up." He knows. He knows deep down. But his heart is breaking and all rational thought is gone, and he's frantic as he tries desperately to wake her. "My darling, don't leave me, please don't leave me. Lucy! Please don't do this, don't leave me, wake up! "


	18. Chapter 18

His eyes scan the signs on either side of the street in search of a bar where he’ll be able to get a glass of whiskey or four.  It’d be easier, not to mention cheaper if he were to just buy an entire bottle for himself to drink alone, but there’s a part of him that feels if he gets drunk in private he’ll have no one to stop him from putting a gun to his head.  And he is too angry for that.

He spots a dingy bar ahead, tucked out of the way of the main strip and with half the lights on the sign burned out.  Unlikely it would be particularly busy, and the current patrons at this hour will likely want to be left alone as much as he does.  Perfect. 

Passing by the alleyway next to the bar, he feels a hand suddenly seize his elbow, and he’s already throwing a punch as he turns.  His arm is knocked out of the way before the punch can land, and a fist hits his jaw like a sledgehammer, leaving him dazed. Between that and several days of no sleep, he stumbles against the wall and stays leaning against it, too tired to put up much of a fight.  He rubs his stubbled jaw where the punch landed, his eyes on the ground. “I don’t have any money, asshole, so you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“No, I’d say I’ve got the right tree.”

His brow furrows as his attacker speaks.  Not only is he speaking Croatian, a rarity around these parts, but the voice is familiar.  Deathly familiar.

He looks up finally and blinks once, twice, then rubs his tired eyes with one hand.  Clearly, the lack of sleep is catching up with him if he’s started to hallucinate, especially when he’s not even had a drink yet.  He considers for a moment whether to respond, then realizes how insane that sounds, talking to someone who isn’t there-

“You’re not imagining things, you’re not hallucinating, and this isn’t a trick.”

“Like hell, it isn’t.”  There goes that plan. “I have to say, I’m not in the mood for a heart to heart chat with my subconscious.  Did I finally manage to pass out in the street and I’m dreaming?”

“Do I need to hit you again?”

Well, he does have a point. That fist definitely felt very real.  Still, he’s currently staring at himself (granted the clothes and the hair are different) and can’t think of any better explanation for it except that he’s finally losing it.  “This will be interesting if nothing else. Let's hear what my brain has to say.” He jumps as his subconscious self growls in anger and grabs him by the jacket lapels, shoving him against the wall and holding him pinned there.  The wall is very real, as are the hands gripping his jacket, as is the angry breath he can feel on his face from the other man who is glaring from mere inches away.

“You aren’t taking this seriously, and I don’t have time for it,” the other Flynn snarls, giving him another shove against the wall for good measure.  “I’m going to tell you something, and you better damn well listen.”

“Let go of me.”

The other Flynn complies, letting him go and taking a step back.  “Let’s get this out of the way first. Yes, I’m real. And yes, I’m you.”

“What-”

“I’m you from the year 2018, Garcia.  In 2016, Mason Industries invents a time machine, and we steal it.”

He can’t help the laugh that escapes.  “What the hell are you-”

“We don’t have time for this. She’ll be here soon.”

“Who’ll be here?”

The other Flynn extends his hand, palm open, and he looks down at it to see a pile of gold chain with a tarnished, beat up locket resting on top.  He takes it and looks back up at himself questioningly. 

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

He complies, picking at the edge until the tiny beat up latch finally gives way.  And again he feels the need to rub his eyes, as he stares down at a photo of himself, clearly several years older, smiling and holding a dark-haired woman wrapped in his arms.  Thoroughly dumbfounded, he looks up at himself again. “I don’t understand.”

The other Flynn’s face softens with compassion.  “I need to make this quick, and you won’t fully understand it now, but you will.  One day you will.” He reaches inside his jacket and produces a small book, no identifiable markings on its dark blue cover, and hands it to him.  “Take this. And don’t let her see it. She’s going to give you another.” He reaches in his jacket once more and produces another book, this one with the pages torn and spilling out, and the only reason it hasn’t already fallen apart completely is the leather strap tied around it.  “She’ll give you this one.”

“What are these books?”

“They’re journals.”  He tucks the battered journal back into his own jacket once more.  “Her journals. They’re going to be your guidebook for the next few years.”

“Guidebook for what?”

“Taking down Rittenhouse.”

“But how-”

“The book will tell you.  Read it, and read it again, until you have it memorized.  Both the one she gives you, and this one.” The other Flynn taps the cover of the journal in his hand.  “This is your cautionary tale. These are the mistakes to avoid. You need to read both. The one she gives you is the one to follow, but you need to know how bad it can get.  Don’t make the mistakes I made. Do things right this time.”

“Mistakes you made?”

“Listen.  I know how you feel.  I was in your shoes already, years ago.  You try to stay drunk so you don’t see their faces when you close your eyes.  You haven’t slept because you just keep reliving that night in your dreams. You’re empty.  Haunted by them. You don’t want to be alive.” He laughs bitterly. “I’ve been there twice now.  I’m still there. But you have the power to fix things for me. For us.”

“I still don’t understand.”

He looks down at the ground.  “Her name is Lucy.” He pauses.  “ _ Was _ Lucy.  Lucy Preston.”

“The woman in the photo?”

He swallows.  “Yes.” His voice is strained.  “She’s coming to see you soon. And you need to listen to her.  Help her. Keep her safe, at all costs.”

“What is so important about this woman?” he asks, brow furrowed.

The other Flynn is quiet, looks down at his shaking hands and balls them into fists in an attempt to stop, and that’s when he sees it.  His fingers are bare.

“Where is your-”

“I love her.”  He looks back at him, cutting off the question before he can finish.  His eyes are shining and his voice quiet as he says, “I met her this night, four years ago.  She was this...guardian angel, coming to me with hope, with all the answers. She’s the woman who risked the fabric of reality to save my life, who knows things about me that no one else does, who has forgiven so many of my sins and sees something in me that I can’t see myself.  And I can’t live without her.”

“You keep saying ‘was’.”

He nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.  “She died,” he says quietly, his voice hoarse, and shakes his head.  “But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you understand what I’m telling you to do.”

He looks down at the journal in his hands.  Part of him still feels he must be having a psychotic break, but another part of him has started to believe (or perhaps just wants to believe) that maybe, somehow, it’s the truth.  And that fills him with a strange sense of comfort. Hope for his future.

“Yes.  I think so.”

“There are two names in there. They’re incredibly important.  One of them has to live, and one of them has to die. No exceptions.  It  _ must  _ happen, above all else.”

“Why?”

“The repercussions if it doesn’t are catastrophic.”

He’s wary but nods regardless.  The future Flynn nods in return and claps him on the shoulder.  “You’d better get in there. She’ll be here soon. Don’t tell her you knew she was coming.  Be surprised.”

As he enters the bar, he pauses, glancing back the way he came.  His future self is still standing at the entrance to the alley, leaned against the wall and his eyes scanning crowd as if searching for someone, the tarnished locket dangling from his hand.  

* * *

San Francisco is cold, and he doesn’t fit in.

He’s quick to secure a hat and full-length coat thanks to the owner of said items being passed out drunk at the bar, which works in a pinch to cover his modern clothes.  There isn’t much he can do about his obviously modern leather boots, however, and so he just hopes and prays no one will look closely enough at his feet to notice.

He was able to narrow the location down to a one block radius thanks to the Lifeboat’s on-board tracking system, and so he waits on a corner, jacket collar pulled up and hat perched low over his face, his eyes scanning the crowd.  Finally, they appear, decked out in elaborate dresses, heading from the west.

Time to move.

He quickly makes his way in the direction they came from, disk clasped tightly in his hand.  There’s no way of knowing how much time he has, as his only experience in this setting was in the previous timeline, heading to save Rufus.  But between Lucy’s journal and past conversations with her, he’d learned enough to get the gist of what was about to take place.

He finds it, finally, hidden inside one of the many warehouses by the docks.  Emma’s overconfidence is showing, as she left it entirely unguarded, not even bothering to activate the camouflage.  He crawls up through the open door and flicks the power on the same way he’d seen her and Anthony do many times before, and the ship springs to life.  He quickly shoves the disk into the drive and runs the installation, tapping his fingers against his knee impatiently as the progress bar crawls painfully slow through increasing percentages.  After an excruciating 5 minutes, a popup indicates ‘Killswitch.exe has been installed’, and he quickly taps in a few final commands. The program would now run the next time a jump was attempted.  Perfect.

He powers it all back down and hops back out of the ship, kicking dirt over his tracks as he leaves so as to cover any trace of his being there, and rushes back out into the street.  He’s on his way back to the Lifeboat when he hears a gunshot go off and the resulting commotion that erupts, and his curiosity gets the better of him. He joins the building crowd just in time for Emma to shove past him, gun in hand and thankfully completely ignoring his face, and he watches her disappear down the street before turning back, just in time to hear someone scream his name.  He pushes to the front of the crowd, pulling his hat lower over his face.

And there she is.  His breath catches in his throat at the sight of her, his chest tight, and he wants nothing more than to rush to her side, to pull her into his arms and never let go.  Instead, he simply waits and watches as she kneels at his side, holding his bloodied hand to her face as she begs him to hang on. It’s a jarring sight, seeing himself bleeding to death on the ground, but for the first time since she initially came back, he fully understands why she risked everything.  The look in her eyes as she watches him dying says everything her words couldn’t. The last time he saw those eyes, they were dark and devoid of life, and seeing her there, in clear pain as she loses him, is almost as heartbreaking.

But she’s alive.  

Wyatt attempts to drag her away and she fights him, and Flynn is turning to leave when she breaks free and goes back to the side of his motionless form.  He watches her carefully remove his wedding ring, brushing the hair out of his face, and again has to resist the urge to go to her. But then she looks up at the crowd, wiping the tears from her cheek, and her eyes widen.

Immediately he pulls his hat lower and leaves, breaking into a run once he’s out of her line of sight.  There had been some recognition there. Not enough that she could tell exactly who it was, but enough to question what exactly she saw.  It was already bad enough being that close to another version of himself, his head pounding until his alternate self finally died - interacting with her in this space would no doubt make everything worse, not to mention the time it would take to explain to her exactly how he’d just died in her arms and then magically reappeared before her.

He finally reaches the Lifeboat and practically leaps in, shedding the heavy jacket and hat once inside and smoothing a hand back through his sweat-soaked hair to keep it out of his face as he slips into the pilot seat.  He keys another date and location into the autopilot and activates it, slipping into his restraints as he does so.

Last stop.

* * *

Saint Francis Memorial Hospital.  It had been a footnote on the last page of her newest journal, a date and time scribbled in below it with the words,  _ “Find her” _ .  Based on the date, he’d made an educated guess what she meant by it, and could only hope he did, in fact, know Lucy as well as he thought he did.

He flashes a smile at the receptionist as he walks up to the main desk in the lobby.  “Excuse me. Could you tell me where the oncology department is?”

“Fourth floor,” she tells him, not looking away from her computer.

“Thanks.”

He makes his way to the elevator, doing his best to look innocuous, but by sheer virtue of his height he gets looks all the same.  Thankfully, they’re more curiosity than anything to actually worry about. Reaching the fourth floor, he heads directly to the nurse’s desk.  The nurse there gives him more time of day than the receptionist, looking up as soon as he comes near. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Henry Wallace?”

“And you are?”

Kudos to her for actually doing her job, but he hadn’t anticipated the question and blanks for a half second before he quickly says, “I’m his wife’s brother.  She asked me to stop by and check in on them and the girls.”

This seems to satisfy the nurse, and she points down the hall, giving him a room number.  He nods in thanks and heads that direction, casting a brief glance over his shoulder once he reaches the door she mentioned.  She’s no longer paying attention to him, and so he bypasses the room entirely, looking in through the glass only long enough to confirm Carol is seated next to her husband, not looking like she’ll be leaving his side any time soon.  He continues down the hall, eyes scanning door signs until he spots the doctor’s lounge.

Once the last person inside leaves, he slips into the lounge, taking care not to let anyone see him do so.  There are white lab coats hanging along one wall, names embroidered on the lapels, and he grabs the nearest one that seems like it will fit him and slips it on, slinging the stethoscope that hangs with it around his neck as well.  Now fully kitted out, he leaves the lounge and continues down the hall, the determined look on his face deterring anyone from actually approaching him.

He stops a nurse walking by with a hand on her arm.  “Sorry to bother you, I’m new here. I sent a patient’s children to the family room, could you remind me where to go?”  She doesn’t even question for a second that he may be lying as she quickly gives him directions to get there. 

He slows as he reaches the room, glancing in through the window.  The lighting is low so as to keep the environment calm and relaxed for distressed families, and inside he can see two figures seated on a sofa with the TV on.  A girl, maybe 3 or 4 years old, is lying stretched out under a blanket in her pajamas, while the other child, also in her pajamas, has the remote in hand and her sister’s head on her lap, stroking her hair as she watches the show.  He glances at the TV and can’t help but smile - she’s watching a documentary.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door quietly, and the older girl looks up as he does.  Her face shows a small trace of anxiety as she sees his white coat.

“Hi there,” he says quietly, closing the door behind him and taking a seat in a chair next to the couch.  “I’m-” He glances down at the embroidery on his lab coat surreptitiously. “-Dr. Kovac. What’s your name?”

“Lucy,” she says cautiously.  “Is my dad okay?”

“The other doctors are looking at him now, we should have some news soon.”  He’s lying, of course, as he can’t even begin to guess the reason they’re there other than her father must have been diagnosed with cancer as well (the late hour likely indicating an emergency at home and no one to watch the children), but he can see her visibly relax all the same once she hears his words.  “What are you watching?”

“A documentary on World War I,” she answers, glancing back at the TV.  “My mom says my great-grandpa was a soldier in that war.”

“Are you a fan of history, then?”

She nods eagerly.  “I love history. My mom buys me biographies for Christmas every year.”

“A bit of an unusual interest for a little girl, isn’t it?”

She looks put out and he has to resist the urge to laugh at her expression.  “I’m not that little. I’m 11.”

“Oh, sorry, my mistake,” he says solemnly, nodding and again trying not to smile.  “What’s your favorite time period then, young lady?”

She puts on a big show of thinking about this, biting her lower lip as she looks up at the ceiling, mentally debating the answer to his question.  He can see her eyes light up as she happens upon the answer. “I really like Hollywood in the 1940s.” She’s incredibly enthusiastic as she answers, or at least as enthusiastic as she can be without waking her still-sleeping sister.  “The dresses were really pretty, and everyone was always so dressed up all the time, even if they weren’t doing anything special.”

“Do you like fashion, then?”

“Yeah.  Especially the old stuff.  But my mom chooses my outfits so I don’t really get to wear anything old.”

Good to hear Carol was just as controlling as always.  “I’m sure you will someday. Just need to grow up a bit more first.”

“That’s what mom says.”  She shrugs. “It just sucks that it takes so long.  Wish I was already grown up.”

He laughs.  “Don’t say that.  It’s here before you know it, and then you’ll wish you were a little gir-”  She shoots him a look. “-a _ young lady _ again.”  She smiles as he corrects himself.  “What do you want to be when you grow up, Lucy?”

“A singer,” she says immediately, grinning.  “Like Judy Garland.”

“You any good?”

“I think so.  My mom lets me play her records when I do my homework and singing helps me think.  My dad says I have a ‘voice like an angel’.”

“High praise.”  He smiles. “Must be true then.”

“Maybe, but he’s my dad, he has to say that.”  Her attention turns back to the TV for a moment, as photos of WWI soldiers start to take over the screen.  He watches her for a moment. He can see the resemblance, even despite her young freckled features and stock straight hair pulled back into a scrunchy.  As for her personality,  _ that _ is almost exactly the same.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, breaking the silence, and Lucy looks over at him again. “I know a historical figure you might like. Her name was Lucy too.”  

She perks up at that.  “Really? What did she do?”

“Oh, lots. She fought in wars, saved lots of people.  Was a great leader. Respected, determined, brilliant, but she never lost her kindness, either.  She was adored by everyone who knew her. She moved heaven and earth to take care of those she loved, and gave her life trying to save them in the end.”  He looks over at her and sees her looking a mix of intrigued and impressed.

“She sounds amazing,” she breathes, in slight awe.

“She was,” he says, smiling warmly.  “I knew her, actually.” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the locket, and pries it open before handing it to her.  “That’s her.” He taps one side of the locket, at the photo of adult Lucy and Amy smiling and hugging. The one of him holding her was carefully removed earlier and currently stowed safely in his pocket. 

“She’s beautiful.”  She looks up at him.  “Did you know her?”

“I did.  That necklace is hers, actually.”

She runs a hand over the locket reverently.  “It looks old.”

“It’s been through a lot.”  He pauses, looking down at the locket fondly.  “I want you to have it.”

Lucy immediately looks back up at him.  “What? Really?”

“Yes.  I think she would have wanted it.  She would have loved inspiring more young ladies to grow up and be as strong as her.”

Lucy still looks unsure, though she’s clearly in awe of the locket.  Flynn reaches out and takes it from her to slip it over her head. The chain is comically long on her, but she lifts the pendant and looks at it, smiling.  “Thank you,” she says quietly, not able to stop grinning.

The door opens abruptly and he turns to it just as a nurse stops short in the doorway, surprised to see him.  “Oh, sorry doctor, I didn’t realize you were in here. Mr. Wallace is asking to see Lucy.”

“Is he okay?” she pipes up, looking suddenly anxious again.  The nurse nods warmly.

“He just wanted to talk with you, sweetheart.  I can keep an eye on your sister for you.”

“Oh, I can do that,” Flynn says, giving the nurse a disarming smile (the smiles are going far when it comes to keeping suspicions low, thank god).  It does the trick again, as a blush crosses her cheeks and she can’t help but smile in return.

“Are you sure, Dr…”  She glances down at his lab coat.  “Kovac?”

“I’m on a break, happy to do it. I can take her down to the cafeteria for a snack.”

“If you’re sure.”  The nurse waves for Lucy to follow, and she quickly gets to her feet, crossing over to the doorway.  She pauses just before it and turns back to Flynn, extending her hand with the air of a girl wise beyond her years, and he takes it gently and shakes it.

“It was really nice to meet you, Dr. Kovac.”  She touches a hand to the locket, sliding it along the chain slightly, a familiar nervous habit that is bittersweet to see again.  “And thank you for the necklace.”

“You’re very welcome, Lucy.”  He smiles and lets go of her hand.

“See you later!” she says over her shoulder as she leaves with the nurse.  

He only waves in response.  He certainly hopes she’s right.

As soon as they’re out of sight, he springs into action, kneeling down next to the sleeping figure of Amy.  He slips his arms under her gently and slowly lifts her, making sure the blanket is still wrapped around her tiny form, and rests her against his chest.  She stirs and makes a small noise, but otherwise stays asleep, her head laying on his shoulder so that he can hear every tiny breath and her arms wrapping automatically around his neck.  He’s reminded of Iris, carrying her to bed when she’d fall asleep on his chest while sprawled out on the couch at night watching TV, and takes a moment to compose himself. He doesn’t have time for sentimental revery.  That can come later.

He heads down the hall toward the elevators, smiling at any hospital staff he passes.  For the most part, they simply smile at the sight of them, no doubt assuming she’s a patient or his visiting daughter.  Once they’re on the elevator he quickly sheds the lab coat as best he can with one arm and kicks it into the corner, dropping the stethoscope with it shortly after.  The reception desk is still mostly empty as he passes it on his way out of the lobby, the same clerk as before seated there, and she glances up only momentarily as he walks by before looking back at her computer.

The air outside is chilly and Amy stirs as they exit the warmth of the hospital, but she stays asleep.  He quickens his pace once he reaches the edge of the parking lot, not fast enough to wake her but enough speed that by the time the hospital realizes what’s happened, they’ll be long gone.  Within minutes he reaches the clearing where he’d left the Lifeboat hidden, and he crawls into it carefully, holding Amy with one arm while he pulls himself up through the hatch.

“Hey,” he says quietly once they’re in and the door is closed, patting her back gently to wake her.  She blinks, bleary-eyed, and he sets her gently in one of the seats and kneels down at her feet. She gathers the blanket against herself with tiny fists, looking at him with confusion.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Garcia Flynn,” he tells her gently.  “I know your sister.”

“Lucy?”

He smiles.  “Yes, Lucy. She’s told me a lot about you, Amy.  In fact, she told me you liked bunnies.” He produces a small stuffed rabbit from below the seat that he’d picked up in Sao Paulo, and Amy’s eyes light up as she sees it.  “Can you take care of my bunny friend for me?”

“Yes!” she says immediately, reaching for it, and he lets her snatch it out of his hand, smiling as she snuggles it close to her chest and yawns again.

“Amy, we’re going to go for a ride, okay?  We’re going to visit your sister. I need to put your seatbelt on.  Is it okay if I do that?” She nods. “Okay, arms out for a second.”

He quickly fastens the seat belt around her tiny frame, hoping beyond all hope that there aren’t any significant downsides to children traveling through time.  She looks comical in the restraints, absolutely dwarfed by them, but he ensures each belt is snug against her body so there is no chance of her slipping out while in transit.  “There we go. All set. Can you hold on to bunny tight, make sure he stays safe too?” She nods again and hugs the rabbit against her tightly, looking excited more than fearful as Flynn then takes a seat in the pilot’s chair.  He fastens his own restraints and glances up at her smiling as he does. This whole thing is likely terrifying to a 4 year old, and the last thing he wants is to be the cause of severe PTSD in the poor girl. “Ready Freddy?” Amy nods once more, returning his smile.  “Hold on tight. Here we go.”

* * *

Lucy lowers her hands from her face as she hears the familiar klaxon going off, signaling the return of the Lifeboat.  Which is crazy, of course - they’d landed hours earlier, and as far as she could tell no one had even left their rooms, let alone taken the ship out for a joyride.

She sits up and swings her legs off Flynn’s bed, getting to her feet quickly and practically stumbling as she rushes out the door, and she wipes her eyes as she rushes toward the kitchen.  The rest of the team are converging as well, trading panicked and confused looks, and as they round the center console they collectively stop short. Another Lifeboat sits next to theirs, this one newer, different somehow despite being the same.

“Is that...another Lifeboat?” Jiya asks, looking around at the team.  No one has an answer.

The hatch slides open and Denise, Wyatt, and Jessica immediately draw their guns.  Lucy holds her breath as they hear movement inside. 

A hand grips the side of the hatch, and as the figure emerges, she lets out an involuntary laugh of delighted relief and dashes forward, pushing past the rest of the team as her jog quickly turns into a run. He’s already reached the ground and rushes forward to meet her, catching her in his arms and clinging to her tightly as he lifts her into the air against him. She clings back just as hard, laughing through tears.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I could say the same.”

She leans back, giving him a curious look.  “What does that mean?”

He shakes his head, laughing, his eyes now shining as well.  “Never mind. It’s a long story.” He sets her back down on her feet and brushes the hair out of her face, his hands resting on both her cheeks, and leans down to kiss her with an intense urgency, as if it would be the last time he could ever do so.  She’s taken off guard, and yet immediately returns the kiss in earnest, gripping his shirt with both hands to hold him close.

They hear someone loudly clear their throat somewhere behind them and finally part, Lucy turning to look back at the team.  Rufus is giving them a pointed, uncomfortable look. “I think I speak for the group when I ask  _ what _ the  _ hell _ is going on?”

“We won, that’s what is going on,” Flynn says to the group.  

Wyatt scoffs.  “Emma-”

“Emma isn’t a threat anymore.  Neither is Rittenhouse. The Mothership is gone.”

There’s an ensuing silence, as none of them have any response to that piece of information.

“How?” Lucy finally asks, and Flynn opens his mouth to explain just as they hear a small, quiet voice drift from the Lifeboat, calling his name. They all look at him immediately, and he lights up, as if he’s just remembered something, and gestures for Lucy to wait there as he rushes to climb back in.  After a moment, and more quiet talking, he reappears with a small figure resting against his hip. As soon as they’re near enough for her to recognize the tiny face, Lucy’s hands fly to cover her mouth in a mix of both shock and utter happiness.

“Lucy,” Flynn says, grinning as he comes close, the girl in his arms staring wide-eyed and clutching to a small stuffed rabbit - but despite her fear, she gives Lucy a tiny, nervous smile.  “This is-”

“Amy?” she breathes.  “But how-” It dawns on her.  “Wait. The doctor, the night she went missing...that wasn’t...?”

“Like I said, it’s a long story.”  He nods at the little girl in his arms.  “Would you like to hold your sister?”

Eyes now filled with tears, she nods quickly and holds her arms out to take her.  Despite Lucy being a relative stranger, something in the two girls must recognize the other, as she quickly wraps her arms around her older sister’s neck and holds on to her tightly.  “Hi Amy,” Lucy says gently, resting the side of her head against her sister’s. “I’m Lucy.”

“Lucy?” she says in a small voice, squeezing tighter.  “My sister is Lucy too.”

“I know sweetheart.”  She sways back and forth in an attempt to soothe her back to sleep, and her eyes meet Flynn’s.  She mouths a silent thank you to him.

“Where are we?” Amy asks softly, eyes looking around the bunker curiously as she drifts off again.  Lucy smiles, looking at Flynn once more.

“You’re home, Amy.  You’re finally home.”


	19. Epilogue

_2 years later_

Lucy drops her keys into the dish in the hall, sighing and squeezing her sore shoulders with both hands as she gently kicks the front door closed behind her.  Between the combined weight of her purse and her briefcase, her back is killing her, and she drops both roughly in the corner, vowing to deal with them later. She can hear quiet voices drifting down the stairs and immediately heads that direction, kicking her heels off as she goes.  All of it can wait.

She reaches the door to Amy’s room and pauses, listening for a moment.

“So Grace finally crawled on top of a cart and shouted at the president to listen to her.  And he did. Everything she said to him was enough to convince him, and soon after that, women got the right to vote.”

“So she was a swifferjet too?”

“ _Suffragette_.  Not always.  Grace realized, only after Alice Paul was killed, that she needed to stand up and fight for other women to have the rights and privileges she had earned for herself.  That not everyone was as strong as her on their own, but if they worked together, they were stronger.”

Lucy smiles and finally slips around the corner, leaning against the door jam with her arms crossed.  Flynn is seated on the bed beside Amy, his arm around her as she snuggles up to his side. He glances up at Lucy briefly, smiling, then turns his attention back to the little girl in his arms.

“And if little girls want to grow up to be strong women like Grace Humiston, they need their rest.”  He presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she hugs him tighter.

“Just five more minutes, daddy?  Can you tell me the one about the super smart actress?”

He and Lucy meet eyes again.  Amy had taken to calling Lucy mom recently, and after a long discussion, they’d decided not to correct her.  Much of her memory of time traveling had faded away, more like the memory of a dream than anything, and Lucy had decided it was much easier (and healthier) to raise her sister in a normal environment.  After all, how do you explain secret cults and complex science and...all of it, to a 6 year old? Perhaps she’d tell her the truth one day when she was older, but for now, the arrangement was working well.  

But calling Flynn dad?  That one was new to her.

“I’ll make you a deal, _majmun_.  Let me go make mom a cup of tea, and then I’ll come back and sit with you for a bit longer.”

“Okay.”  Amy smiles and settles down into the bed, arms at her sides as she waits for Flynn to tuck her in.  Lucy steps into the room and goes to the opposite side of the bed, drawing the blanket up around Amy’s shoulders on that side.

“Love you, sweetpea,” Lucy says, kissing her sister’s cheek all over, and Amy giggles.

“Love you too, mommy.”  She turns back to Flynn.  “Can I have a butterfly kiss, dad?”

Flynn laughs and complies, eliciting more giggles from the little girl.  “Time for you to lay down, _majmun_.  I’ll be back in five minutes to check on you, okay?”

“Okay,” she says quietly, already yawning as he flicks off the lamp and turns on her nightlight.  He and Lucy slip quietly out the door, closing it softly behind them before heading for the stairs.

“She’ll be out in two minutes,” Lucy says as she descends to the first floor.

“She was hyper today, I’m going to give it four minutes.”

“I’ll take that bet.  Loser gives the winner a back rub.”

Flynn catches her in his arms as they reach the hall leading toward the kitchen, kissing the side of her neck.  “I will gladly do that any day, you hardly need to barter for it.”

“It’s more fun that way, though,” she says, grinning and gently pulling away from him.  She seats herself at the kitchen island and pulls over the stack of that day’s unopened mail.  She spots a letter at the top with Jiya’s messy handwriting on the envelope.

_Dr. and Mr. Preston-Flynn_

“Smartass,” she says, and when Flynn shoots her a questioning look, holds the envelope up for him to see.

“Seeing as the wedding is in less than a year, seems to me she’s just saving time.”  He winks at her as he pours himself a glass of wine, taking care to pour her a cup of tea before allowing himself a sip of his own beverage.  “Though on that note, have you thought about what you want to do about your last name?”

“Haven’t decided yet.  Trust me, I’ve been thinking about it.”  She rubs a hand over her stomach absentmindedly, caressing the near-imperceptible bump there.  “Academically, it’s easier to stick with Preston since all of my books and whatnot are in that name, but I admit it leaves a bad taste in my mouth after...everything.  So do I go with Flynn, or do I reclaim my family legacy for something good? And if I did change my name, do I change Amy’s as well to match? What a headache.”

He sets the mug of tea in front of her and takes a seat on the next barstool over.  “Good thing you have plenty of time to think about it. When are you going to cut back on hours?”

She stretches her neck, sighing.  It had been a slight point of contention for the past month, her decision to continue teaching despite the pregnancy.  Of course, Flynn made more than enough doing his consulting work from home that she didn’t necessarily need to keep teaching, but a large part of her wasn’t yet ready to give up her autonomy.  What she hadn’t accounted for was the late nights she’d end up staying at the university to grade papers or prepare lesson plans, and for the most part lately she’d been getting home at 8:00 PM rather than her scheduled 5:30 PM.  Flynn didn’t mind, of course, seeing as he was essentially a stay at home dad already; it was par for the course for his daily routine to feed, bathe and tuck Amy in anyway. Still, she didn’t feel particularly great about missing storytime most nights.  It was a routine that gave her life a tiny shred of normalcy, that made her feel like a regular human again.

“It’s the Christmas break soon.  I thought I’d talk to them about starting my maternity leave shortly after that.  I have a few manuscripts on the go that I can work on at home.”

“Or bed rest like the doctor recommended?” Flynn points out, eyebrow raised, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“I don’t care what the damn doctor says, I am _not_ a geriatric pregnancy.”

“You may be a doctor by name, but I’m not sure you’re qualified to make that call.”

She waves him off and sips her tea, then sets the mug aside and tears open the envelope from Jiya.  Reading the contents, she gasps in delight, and Flynn leans over to catch a look at it.

“They’ve _finally_ decided on a date?”

“Cut them some slack, they’ve been busy.”  Lord, had they ever. Jiya, Rufus and Connor had formed their own company shortly after the Lifeboats were decommissioned (also known as the good ol’ grenade-or-three down the hatch trick, thanks very much Wyatt), and it had been a bit of a process to get things up and running, especially with Connor’s former bankruptcy and tattered reputation hanging over their head as an unfortunate legacy, but their first project had immediately caught eyes in the tech world, and with Rufus as the face of the company instead of Connor, they’d recovered rather quickly.  Rather quickly to the tune of a 500 million dollar contract. Shortly thereafter, Rufus had proposed to Jiya with the biggest emerald any of them had seen (never one for tradition, she’d specifically requested an emerald, for the simple reason of ‘I like green’).

“Did you and Jessica have coffee today?”

“Yeah, she was over just after lunch.  Apparently, Abigail finally started the terrible twos.”

“God, as if Wyatt wasn’t already grumpy enough, he’s probably going to be exponentially worse for the next few months.”

“Months?”  Flynn smirks.  “Try years. If he thought delta force was bad, he’s about to find out how much worse life can get.  Hell hath no fury like a toddler scorned.”

Lucy laughs.  “At least Jess has you for company...and moral support.”

He shrugs.  “Parents need to stick together.  Especially since we both have one more on the way.”  They share a look as he then rests his hand against her stomach, the adoration in his eyes almost enough for her to either cry or tear his clothes off, she isn’t sure which (and obviously one was a lot easier than the other, considering the six year old upstairs).  He suddenly gets to his feet, taking one of her hands. “Come with me, I need to show you something.”

“What?” she asks as she is led back upstairs, heading instead to their own bedroom.  Once there, he leads her toward the en-suite nursery (formerly her walk-in closet, which killed her a little bit to give up). 

“Close your eyes.”  She complies, and he directs her into the small room and flicks the light on.  “Okay. Open.”

She smiles widely.  “You decided on the paint!”

“Do you like it?”

She runs a hand along the wall, a warm shade of blue, smiling as she looks it over.  “It’s wonderful. But what if we have a girl?”

“Then she’d better love blue,” he murmurs, drawing her into his arms again.  His eyes drift over her face, and she looks back at him, the comfortable, familiar silence stretching on until he finally leans down and kisses her gently.  She can’t help but smile as she returns the kiss. She didn’t think it was possible to feel this happy, not after all they’d been through; hell, she couldn’t recall even being this happy in her pre-Rittenhouse, pre-time travel life.  Of course, part of her still misses her mother, and always would, but she’d made peace with that loss a long time ago. And Denise had stepped up to the plate easily, taking on the role of surrogate grandmother and babysitting Amy any time Flynn had an appointment he couldn’t miss.  The flexibility in Denise’s schedule, afforded to her thanks to her job switch (head of security for the newly formed Lifeboat Inc.), allowed her more time with her own family as well as with Lucy’s, and they were forever grateful for the help.

“I thought I’d go with burgundy for the rocking chair.”

“Burgundy?  Do they even make rocking chairs in that color?”

“I’m sure I can whip one up.  Sand one down and paint it myself.”

“Are you sure burgundy and blue really go together?” she asks, skeptical, and he laughs.

“ _Moja ljubavi_ , I think they’re a perfect match.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride it's been. Thank you everyone who stuck around to see the story through. Your comments and kudos meant a lot as I chipped away at this story. Hopefully it's been as fun for you as it was for me. See you after the finale!


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